All We Have
by PissedOffEskimo
Summary: When Dean's fifteen, Dad goes missing and it's up to him to take care of Sammy. Please read all warnings. Wincest.
1. Part One: What We Have To

Title: What We Have ToSeries: All We Have  
Pairing: Dean/Other (overall: series will be Wincest)  
Rating: R (hard)  
Word Count: 11,741  
Warning: non-con; prostitution; underage sex  
Summary: With Dad missing, Dean does what he has to.  
Author's Note: Due to the author's own stupidity, the boys' ages are based on the unofficial release - meaning that they are 6 years apart (as opposed to four). This story was inspired by You Taste All My Purity written by Ellipsis Black. She isn't the first or only person to do a fic in the 'Dean As a Whore' category, but she was the first one I read and she did it well. So, thank you Miz Black, for the inspiration. The second part of the series, Learning Curve, will be posted in approximately two weeks.

* * *

**What We Have To**

"Who's that?"

Dean followed the man's gaze to where Sammy stood next to the car, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking for all the world like he'd rather be down a hole with a Skinwalker than staring at Dean's newest trick.

"That's my little brother."

"You want him to watch?"

Turning back to the man, Dean glared at the note of interest in his voice. Sick fuck, but then what else could he expect from a guy paying to fuck a sixteen-year-old. "Sammy, take a walk."

He heard his brother muttering something under his breath as he turned and trudged off into the trees. The man chuckled, not bothered by Dean's apparent anger. "Cute kid. How old is he?"

"Conversation costs extra."

Dean turned around and bent over the hood of the car, his hands pressed against the still warm metal and tried to ignore the biting cold against his arse as the man abruptly pulled his pants down. Damnit, this was Southern Texas, it was supposed to be warm year round. Of course, it wasn't snowing and that was at least one thing Dean could be grateful for.

There was the crinkling of the condom wrapper being torn and rolled on, the sound of the man spitting on his hand, then Dean gritted his teeth as a cock was shoved roughly up his arse. He hated this part. It didn't seem to matter how many times he did it, the first few seconds always hurt like a bitch. As much as he hated the pain, though, there was one thing he hated more.

"Oh, fuck, kid, you're so fucking tight."

The talking. Stupid fucking perverts that liked to hear themselves talk.

"Yeah, take it."

He bit back the response that of course he was going to take it, for a hundred fifty bucks, he'd have taken a fist up his ass. It was that way in small towns, though, which was why they'd stopped here. In big cities there were too many other boys and girls willing to sell it for far cheaper. Not that this guy needed to know that.

"Ung, yeah, you look so fucking good with my cock up your ass. Fucking slut. I'm gonna cum in your ass."

Then do it already. Dean closed his eyes and leaned onto his elbows, biting back anything more than the occasional grunt, because he knew Sammy wasn't far away. He never was. When he'd first found out that Sammy only stayed just out of sight, instead of actually taking the walk he was supposed to, Dean had nearly hit him. It was bad enough doing this without knowing that Sammy was listening, but Sammy had cried and pouted and Dean had relented like he always did. So, Sammy stayed out of sight, but within earshot and Dean tried not make any noises that he didn't have to, especially ones that would indicate exactly how much discomfort he was in.

The only problem with drunks was that sometimes it took longer for them to finish up. In this case, nearly ten minutes of having his ass fucked raw before the guy finally fucking came with a string of obscenities that Dean would have to wash Sammy's mouth out with soap for if he ever caught him repeating them

Standing up, Dean pulled his pants back on, wincing as he wriggled his ass into the tight denim. He'd needed new ones. Come to that, Sammy was going to need new clothes soon, too. Apparently, ten-year-olds grew like weeds.

He'd managed to collect cash up front this time, so there was no reason for the guy to stick around and he didn't. As soon as he was good and gone, Dean shook himself off and stretched a little. This was good, they had money for a hotel and food now and if they could find a thrift shop, maybe even some new clothes.

"Sammy, come on, let's get going." Nothing. Shit, he was probably pouting again. He knew Sammy hated that he did this, but there wasn't much else he could do when the local bars refused to let him in. "Sammy, I'm not playing, it's cold and I want a fucking shower."

Not so much as a rustle in the trees.

"Sammy?"

He followed the little foot-worn path his brother had taken into the forest, but Sammy wasn't hiding just behind the trees this time. "Sammy!"

He raced back to the Impala and opened the trunk, rummaging for the high power flashlight. He went back into the woods, letting the beam cut the darkness in front of him. It had to be some kind of joke.

"This isn't funny, Sammy!"

This wasn't funny...

*

*

*

The day before Dean's fifteenth birthday, his dad went missing. Or rather, that was the day Sammy came up to him and asked "When is Dad coming back?" They were out of Lucky Charms and he realized that they had no money to buy any more. It suddenly occurred to him that their dad had been gone for over a week. There had been no call, no one had come by to check on them. Dad was just... missing.

In a normal family, they would have gone to the cops, but they weren't a normal family and Dean knew that if Dad was missing then either he'd been killed or captured. He'd called his dad's cell, but it dumped him in voice mail. He tried some of Dad's contacts, but they hadn't heard from him either. They started asking questions about whether the two of them were okay and Dean had to act like it wasn't that big of a deal, just a hunt taking longer than expected, but the truth was he was afraid. Not that Dean would ever admit to being afraid.

Despite the fact that he smiled at Sammy and said it was going to be alright, he couldn't go to sleep that night because he was terrified that it wouldn't be. Neither of them legal age, the rent on the place was only paid up through another two weeks, and then... then they'd have to figure something out.

It was easy enough to take care of the food problem. They'd been in this town for almost a month and the local bar and pool hall knew Dean from seeing him come in with his father. They didn't ask questions when he came in alone, mostly because he wasn't ordering alcohol. Scamming was a Winchester family specialty and in one night he'd made a hundred - would have made more if the barkeeper hadn't told him to get out.

That kept them in food for the week, but then it was gone again and Dean had to go back and scam some more. Dad had always said not to do that kind of thing in the same place more than once, but in a town this size, there wasn't anywhere else. He got lucky, when the truck driver he was playing against became suspicious and then angry, the barkeeper stepped in and told him to get out before he got his ass kicked. Still, it was fifty dollars and if they ate mostly canned soup and Ramen that would hold them over for another week.

He spent a lot of time that week calling people on his cell and trying to figure out what to do. There weren't a lot of things Dean was scared of, but losing his brother was _the_ big one. If they found out Dad was missing, they'd put Dean and Sammy in foster care and that might mean splitting them up. What they needed to do was get back to the cabin they'd been staying in when this job cropped up. There were a few weeks worth of rations there and no one would bother them, but that was halfway across the US and they'd need gas and food along the way.

When the money ran out this time, he packed their things and loaded them and Sammy into the rusted out Impala his dad had bought him at the beginning of summer and started to drive. Five hours later, Dean was looking at an almost empty gas tank and Sammy was complaining that he was starving, so he pulled into the first road side town he saw. The bars wouldn't let Dean in, though, because his fake ID only put him at sixteen.

He'd punched walls and kicked curbs, cursing his father for not getting him one that made him older. He knew it wouldn't have done any good, he may have been built like a football player, but he had one of those stupid baby faces that got him looked at twice by police officers when they pulled into gas stations. Sixteen was pushing it, eighteen would have been an obvious lie. The only reason his father had gotten it for him at all was because they'd finally gotten to an age where fitting three people in the cab of a little truck was more than just uncomfortable.

Dean bit back tears, literally dug his teeth into the side of his cheek and took deep breaths until they weren't there anymore. He had to be strong for Sammy. He'd gone behind the bar and leaned against the building to trying to think of something he could do, anything. It came to him, in the form of a man with mangy hair, crooked teeth and tattered overalls.

"Hey, boy, how about I give you sixty bucks and you put that purdy mouth of yours to good use?"

At first, he hadn't known what to say. He knew what the man was talking about, he'd managed to steal a few porn magazines from convenience stores and not all of them straight. So, he got what this guy was offering, but it didn't seem real. In fact, it didn't seem real at all until the guy was walking off and Dean could taste the bitterness of cum in the back of his throat.

He didn't even remember deciding to do it, or getting on his knees, or even the act itself, really. Just one minute he was staring in the face of a decision - he needed money and there were only so many ways he was going to be able to get it. A Winchester never steals (not unless it's to save lives, that's what Dad had said after he'd found out about the porn) so he didn't steal, he got on his knees and the guy gave him sixty five because he'd said, "You look real purdy when you cry, boy." Dean hadn't even known he was crying.

When he couldn't hear the footsteps anymore, he'd hunched over and thrown up behind the trash cans before getting up and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. It was done, he had enough money to get him and Sammy out of town and maybe the next time they pulled over the bar would let him in.

*

*

*

Dean walked through the woods calling for Sammy until almost sunrise, not knowing what else to do. He hoped that Sammy had just wandered off and gotten lost, but as much as he may have hoped, he knew that wasn't true. Sammy didn't wander off.

Finally, he ended up back in the Impala, sitting in the front seat, staring numbly out at the first signs of light. He didn't even know where to begin looking. For a year and a half there hadn't been a time when Sammy wasn't within shouting distance. With a resolute set of his jaw, he put the car in drive and headed for town.

He stood outside the police station as minutes slowly became an hour. He wasn't sure what exactly would happen if he went in there, but he was damned sure it wasn't going to be good. Would there be a missing person's report on them? Would they send him to jail if he suddenly appeared without Sammy? Would they try to ship him off somewhere while they looked for his brother? In the end, he punched a wall until his knuckles were bloody and walked into the police station He wasn't sure that he was doing the right thing, but he couldn't think of any other options.

It was a small town and it was six in the morning, there were only two officers in there. That was good, gave him a better chance of getting away if he had to make a run for it. "I need to report a missing person."

The officer at the front desk looked up, caught off guard. "I'm sorry?"

Dean took another deep breath. "My little brother's missing."

The officers exchanged looks, "How long has he been gone?"

"Since maybe two this morning."

"How old is he?"

"Ten."

The officer tapped his pen on his desk patiently, "Are you sure he didn't go somewhere and not tell you?"

Dean gulped down the lump in his throat. He hadn't counted on them not believing him. "Sammy wouldn't do that, we're not... we don't live here. We were just passing through and we stopped in the woods for a while and he disappeared while I wasn't looking."

The tapping stopped. "What were you doing in the woods?"

Oh, he knew he shouldn't have taken the trick back there, the way the man had smiled should have told him that was a bad place to go. "Stuff."

It wasn't the best answer he could have come up with, sure, but he was nervous now that all eyes were on him.

"Stuff?"

"Yeah. Look, we... stopped for a pee, okay, and he went into the woods and didn't come out."

There was a long pause, one that said they weren't sure if they believed him, especially since there were about five gas stations along the roadway with open bathrooms. "Give me his name."

"Samuel... Warren."

A clipboard was passed to him and he looked at it incredulously: Full name, birth date, social, home address, parents names, a lot of information he couldn't give. "What's this?"

"Fill that out so we can get started."

"Can't we just go? I'm afraid he might be lost out there and you know the area, so...?"

The cop in the back stood, interrupting Dean, who looked at him with pent up anger. He couldn't just sit there and fill out forms when Sammy was missing.

"Stan, go easy on the kid. What's your name, son?"

Dean managed to bite back the urge to say he wasn't anyone's son. "Dean."

"Where are your folks, Dean?"

One minute he was angry and pissed and the next he was just... blank. "Um, I... uh, my dad is waiting for me and my brother at our cabin. We're supposed to meet him there. It's by the lake."

Oh, yeah, that sounded convincing. Was there even a lake around here?

"Maybe we should give him a call, let him know what's going on?"

Dean shook his head before he could stop himself. "No, it's, uh, really far out and there's no phone in the cabin and the reception is... well, there isn't any."

Why was it, Dean wondered, that he could spend years listening to Dad seamlessly spin tales on a moments notice, but the one time he needed to, he couldn't get out a single word that didn't have lie stamped on it in big red letters.

"Uh huh, son, if you don't start telling me the truth, I'm not going to be able to help you."

He should have kept his cool, he should have stayed calm, but he was just so fucking worried. Sammy was gone. Sammy was missing. Everything he'd been calm about the last fucking year and a half he'd been calm about because he didn't want Sammy to worry, but Sammy wasn't there now. "Fuck you and fuck this, I'll find him myself!"

He turned around to storm out, but Stan was around the desk in the next instant, grabbing his arm. "Hey, hey, slow down. Now, I know you're worried about your brother, but it isn't going to do any good rushing off on your own. How long did you say it's been since he went missing?"

Dean fought not to fidget as he did the math in his head. He hated math. "Since two, so that's... maybe four hours?"

The other man - Dean noticed that he had a name tag that said Carl on it - nodded patiently, "Okay, now what you've got to understand is that people have been going missing in those woods for the last couple of months and if he's been gone four hours, he probably isn't there anymore. So, what we need to do is get ahold of your folks."

A small town with a dark forest that people were going missing in? Dad always said this sort of thing was never a coincidence, but that wasn't enough information to start looking. There were a lot of things that liked to hide in dark places in small towns. "People are missing?"

Carl nodded, more of that condescending patience, but Dean took it, because he had to know more. "Mostly grown ups, no kids till now and only one of them has shown up..." the way he trailed off didn't leave much to Dean's imagination. Whoever they had found was dead. Dad said that bodies told stories. Dean needed to see the body.

He turned to leave, but Stan gripped his arm harder and he looked at the hand clenched around his jacket and scowled. "Let me go."

"To where?"

_The morgue._ "I'm going to go look for my brother."

"Can't let you do that. Bad enough we got one kid missing, we don't need another."

Dean considered kicking the man in the shins and making a run for it, but Carl was watching him closely and he hadn't really tested his skills in a long time. "I'm not leaving without him and I don't have anywhere to stay."

That wasn't strictly true. He had hundred fifty dollars in twenties and tens, rolled up in the pocket of his coat, but that money was for Sammy.

Carl looked over at Stan, who motioned towards the back with his head. "Look, why don't you come sit in my office while I have a word with Stan here and then we'll talk about why you don't tell us where your parents are."

They thought he was a runaway! If the tone was anything to go by, they were thinking 'abusive home' or something. Dean looked at the ground to hide his smile as he was led into a small office and the door was shut behind him. Quickly, he surveyed his surroundings. The blinds were pulled down over the little window that looked into the station. Good, that meant Carl and Stan wouldn't be able to see what he was doing.

Going to the window, he unlatched it and pushed it up. There were bars, held in place by a padlock. Picking locks was the first thing Dad had taught him; well, right after how to shoot a gun. There was a coat rack with a wire hanger on it and he pulled it down, bending it into the proper shape. Less than five minutes later, while the officers were still softly bickering over what to do with him, Dean dropped onto the ground outside the station and looked at the open window in satisfaction.

The cold bit at him a little and he sniffed, wondering where Sammy was and if he was warm enough there.

_If he was alive_.

He shook off the thought and blew on his hands, heading back to where his Impala was parked in front of the station. He had a body to examine.

*

*

*

A month after their father disappeared, Sammy started having nightmares. Three hand jobs and seven blow jobs later, they'd made it back to the cabin and there was food and water to last them a few weeks. Dean wasn't really sure how long they'd be staying, though, because Dad's contacts were getting suspicious. Apparently, "You just missed him," only worked the first thirty or forty times.

Dean had been awake since sunrise, looking through the cabin to see what they could sell, if anything, to add to the three hundred in cash his dad had had stashed for emergencies. The eerie, early morning quiet of the small cabin was pierced as Sammy started screaming. Dean rushed into their room, terrified at what he'd find. The cabin was in the middle of nowhere and even if there were salt lines at every opening and symbols and herbal wards all over the damned thing to keep the monsters out, that didn't make it safe. Dad had said never take anything for granted.

There weren't any monsters, though, just Sammy sitting up in his bed, his eyes wide, screaming for Dean.

"Hey, sh, sh, Sammy. Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sammy's screaming hitched to silence and he buried his head in the crook of Dean's neck, crying. It made Dean feel uncomfortable, he'd never been one for physical affection, but he reminded himself that Sammy was only nine. "I... had a dream."

Dean rubbed his brother's back. "What kind of dream."

"The bad kind."

"What happened?"

"I dreamed..." he gave a big sniff and pulled back to rub his nose on his long nightshirt, "I dreamed that something killed dad."

Something, not someone. Dad had never hidden anything from his boys, especially not the ugly truth about what was out there. Dean remembered when Sammy had been four and he'd asked Dad for a bedtime story; he'd been told about the happy family and the evil thing that had pinned the mother to the ceiling, setting her on fire, and how the brave older brother had saved the baby and how the father had vowed vengeance. It was the last time Sammy asked for a story.

"Dean, is Dad okay?"

He started to say no - Dad had always been adamant about the truth - but Sammy's eyes were puffy and pleading for reassurance and he couldn't deny Sammy anything, not even if it meant lying. "Yeah, Sammy, it was just a dream."

It was Sammy's first nightmare about their father's death and it wasn't the last one. It was also the first time Dean lied to Sammy, but it wasn't the last of that, either.

*

*

*

The morgue was in the hospital, thirty minutes away and two towns over. Dean hated himself for leaving when Sammy was still back there, but he had to know if that dead person had been killed by anything supernatural and the only way he was going to find that out was by seeing the body.

There was one problem with going to see the body. He didn't so know what kind of body he was looking for. So, he'd had to wait till night and then stand outside the bar, propositioning people until he got someone who was willing to chalk up forty bucks for a hand job and was drunk enough to talk, without being too drunk to be incoherent.

Leaning against the wall, Dean pulled the guy against him and breathed into his neck, "It's safe back here?"

The guy chuckled, opening his pants to give Dean access. "Safe enough. Don't worry, no one's gonna see us."

"Not that." Dean worked his hand into the man's underpants and wrapped his fingers around the sizable erection. Good thing he'd said no to getting fucked, because that would have had him limping for hours. "I heard some people had been disappearing."

The man grunted, bracing his hands against the wall while Dean went to work. "Fuck, yeah, you're good at that." Dean smiled cynically, after this long he'd better be good at it. "Just stay out of the woods and you'll be fine."

"I heard one of them turned up dead."

"You're pretty chatty for a whore."

Dean twisted his wrist and pumped a little faster. He could feel the large vein pulsing against his palm. It wouldn't be long now. "Just making idle conversation."

"Hm, sure you are." He grunted again and Dean held in a wince as his wrist was covered with warm cum. As he pulled back, Dean felt disappointment bubbling in his stomach. If this guy didn't talk, he'd have to find someone else and he usually only did this shit for the money. Doing it for information seemed... dirty.

"You be careful out there, kid."

"So, someone is dead?"

The man paused and put a hand on Dean's head, leaning in, no hint of humor on his face. "Yeah, they pulled some young girl out of the woods just yesterday, maybe twenty-two."

"How'd she die?" He tried not to sound interested, failed.

"This turning you on?"

Dean grimaced, "No, just morbid curiosity."

"I heard someone bled her dry, probably slit her throat or something."

Bled her dry? That sounded like... but vampires didn't exist. Then again, a lot of things weren't supposed to exist. Shaking his head, Dean pulled back and walked to his car. The man didn't say anything else, but he didn't take his eyes off Dean as he walked away.

Thirty minutes later, as he slid through the basement window into the hospital, he shuddered at the memory of the guy's eyes lingering on him like that. Not that many people took special interest in the whores they fucked, but when they did, it was never a good thing - especially when they'd wanted something they hadn't gotten.

It was just past midnight and the lights were off. He palmed his flashlight and flicked it on, aiming the beam at the floor so that it wasn't too bright. Being that it was a small town, it wasn't a very big hospital. The doors to the morgue had two windows looking out into an equally dark hallway. Hopefully there wasn't anything else of interest in the basement.

The drawers holding the bodies were stacked three high and marked with names, places and dates. Fourth one over, he found what he was looking for. Mary Carthwright, Vallera, Texas, DOD November 5, 1994.

It took him several deep breaths to get up the courage to open the drawer. He'd seen dead bodies before on the few jobs that his dad had let him go on, but always from a distance and most of them demons. Gingerly, he pulled back the sheet from her head... and promptly threw up on the floor.

It was mostly the smell, but the gaping wound on her neck hadn't helped. He could see the white of her vertebrae. Resting his hands on his knees, he breathed deeply and pushed himself back up for a second look. At least his vomit masked some of the odor permeating from the corpse. The side of her neck had been literally ripped open. Pulling back the sheet, he noted the bite marks down her arms, over her chest.

Whatever had done this to her had some wicked teeth. He covered her up and pushed her back into the recess of the wall. It was vampires, it had to be. He'd never heard of anything else that could drain a person like that, but what was he supposed to do about it now that he knew?

The answer came to him in a flash, right about the same time he heard someone coming down the hall. Scrambling through the window, he darted across the parking lot and jumped into his car, pealing out, his mind racing.

When he was a few miles away, he pulled over onto a back road and fought the urge to scream. Whatever had Sammy had done that to that girl. His mind replaced the girl's face with Sammy's, her heart shaped face with his rounded one, her blankly staring blue eyes with his moss green, her full breasts with his undeveloped chest. He nearly threw up again, but managed to swallow it down.

Turning on the car lights, Dean slid into the backseat. eyeing the mess strewn over the floor with misgivings. It had been four months since one of them had even been back there for anything more than sleeping and he was about to dig through it. Next time they stopped for gas, he was making Sammy clean it up.

He rummaged though the trash, tossing aside food wrappers, tissues, dirty rags they'd made out of clothes that didn't fit, and that was where that stupid map of South Dakota had gone, and when had they last bought ice cream, and that was where _that_ smell had been coming from - until he was sure what he was looking for wasn't there. Getting out, he opened the trunk. It wasn't as bad as the contents of his back seat. They opened the trunk often enough, mostly to store their dirty clothes, but it had been weeks since the last time they did laundry.

Pushing the clothes aside, he opened the latch to the secret compartment and stared at the dusty weapons. Since Dad had gone missing, he'd only opened it twice, once to get a small knife he could keep in his boot and before that... he didn't like thinking about that time. Under the holy water and crosses and hand guns, he finally found what he was looking for. Dad's journal.

*

*

*

It was dark. Sammy tried to force his eyes open and groaned at the effort it took. He ached all over - his head, his neck, his shoulder, his hip.

"Hey, I think the kid's waking up."

Someone touched his head and he jerked away instinctively. He knew it wasn't Dean. Dean always said his name before touching him, like he was reassuring him that everything was okay.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the strangers sitting around him. There was an older man leaning against one wall staring at the floor _(the first victim)_ with a glazed over expression,, a couple of teenagers who looked like they were dressed for prom, and then, sitting directly in front of him was a pale man, a large darker man and a rather emaciated looking woman... who were staring at him. He gulped and pushed himself up into a sitting position, refusing to take his eyes away from these people. The woman scooted forward first and he backed away from her. She looked nice enough, but Sammy had never been around women very much and he wasn't really all that sure what they looked like when they _weren't_ nice.

"Hey, come on, kid, it's okay. I'm Sarah, what's your name?"

He scanned the room, noting that they were in some kind of cage. Gulped back the knot in his throat, he looked back at her. "Sammy. Where's my brother?"

She shook her head. "You were the only one they brought in."

"They?" He dug into his memory, searching for anything that would explain where he was and what was going on. Dean had been doing it, he remembered that and he remembered the way the man had looked at him, asking if Dean wanted Sammy to watch. Then Dean had told him to go 'take a walk,' which was code for 'stay out of sight' and he'd been doing that... and then nothing.

Sarah reached out to touch his head and he dodged her hand, pressing against the wall now. "Calm down, Sammy, we're not going to hurt you. That's a nasty bump you've got there."

"I want my brother."

They all looked at each other helplessly. That, more that seeing it, told Sammy Dean wasn't there and he felt his lower lip trembling. Had something gone wrong with the trick? What if it was like last time and Dean was hurt? One of the men, the pale one, came forward, pushing Sarah aside and Sammy sniffed as the man knelt in front of him.

"Hey Sammy, My name is Joe. Now, I want you to listen to me and listen careful. They're going to be coming soon and I want you to stay put and don't make a sound. You got me?"

"Who're 'they'?"

The scraping of a door dragging open made them all turn and Sammy curled in on himself. Sarah and Joe dragged the others back with them so that Sammy couldn't see what was going on... or so what was going on couldn't see him.

A new voice, one that sounded female and cocky came from somewhere else in the room. "Feeding time, kiddies. Who shall it be today?"

Sammy could feel the collective shudder in the bodies around him and clamped his hands over his mouth to keep from making noise. What did they mean by feeding time? The door to the large cage they were in opened and there were footsteps, maybe two, three people. It had been too long since he'd last used that particular skill to tell.

"Didn't Mikey say there was a kid?"

"Yeah, a small one."

He bristled at being called small, but Sarah put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't know why he bothered, kids don't taste right." _Taste?! _ "Their blood's too sweet. I like mine older." The cage door opened and there was a scuffle, the sound of someone grunting, as if in pain. "Like this one. He looks ripe."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

There was cursing as the man was dragged off. The door closed again and Sarah sighed, relaxing against the wall beside Sammy. For a moment, everything was quiet, then Sarah put an arm around him and Sammy didn't pull back because he knew now that she wasn't the enemy.

"It's going to be okay, kid."

He knew that wasn't true, like he'd known it wasn't true when Dean told him Dad was alright, but just like then, he didn't tell her he knew. It was comforting to hear it and he was afraid she'd stop lying if she knew he didn't believe her.

*

*

*

They'd stayed at the cabin for another week after Sam's nightmare, but Dad's contacts had become too suspicious and a mechanic named Bobby said he was coming to check on them. Part of Dean thought maybe it would be better to just let the adults take care of things, but the other part was still too afraid. The other part kept repeating the same mantra. "I have to take care of Sammy, Sammy is _my_ family, _my_ responsibility."

He'd gotten the call around midnight. Bobby only lived an hour away and he wanted to get as far away from there as possible. He went into the bedroom and woke his brother. "Sammy! Sammy, get up!"

Sammy rubbed his eyes open and blinked his sleep away, "Wha's it?"

"Get up, Sammy, we've got to get out of here."

"Why?"

"Bobby's coming to check on us. He'll find out Dad's gone."

"I don't understand."

Dean knelt in front of Sammy, looking at him sternly. "Sammy, do you want to leave me?" Sammy shook his head, his green eyes wide and still a little bleary. "Then we have to go before Bobby gets here. Now, get dressed."

While Sammy fished around for clean clothes, Dean pulled out their duffle bags and shoved clothes in them. He threw the duffle bags in the trunk as Sammy came out. "Dean, I don't want to leave. How will Dad find us if we leave?"

Dean cursed silently, but picked Sammy up and carried him to the car, thrusting him in the front seat. "Dad'll find us, Sammy, he always does."

"But..."

"Remember two years ago when Dad called me and told me to take you and run." Sammy nodded. "Right, well, I did, remember? And he found us the next day." He left out the part about there being a prearranged the hiding place. "He'll find us again, just like last time."

Reluctantly, Sammy nodded and Dean started to close the door, only to find Sammy blocking it. "Wait! I left Pickles."

"Sammy..." He was going to say that Sammy was too old to be clinging to a stuffed turtle, but Sammy was pouting again and when he pouted, there wasn't anything Dean could deny him. "Hold on."

He ran back inside and grabbed the turtle off the bed, then stopped and grabbed a picture of their parents, as well. Dean drove until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and then he pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the car, looking down at Sammy, who'd fallen asleep across the front seat, holding his turtle.

God, what was he going to do? They had three hundred dollars and half a tank of gas. He ran his hands through his hair and realized he was shaking. They didn't have anywhere to go. There was no 'home' anymore and three hundred wasn't going to go very far, no matter how frugal he was with it.

Sammy stirred and looked up at him. "Dean?"

Dean smiled at him, "Hey, I thought we'd stop for the night, okay?"

Sammy nodded and scooted forward until his head was resting in Dean's lap. "Night."

"Night." He stroked Sammy's soft hair and fought tears that were threatening to break free. What was he going to do?

*

*

*

Vampires were real. Dad's journal said that they were extinct, but it also had pictures of what victims looked like and there was no question, that girl in the morgue had been killed by a vampire. It also said that they couldn't be killed by sunlight or a stake through the heart, and crosses didn't do shit. A dead man's blood could be used as a poison and would weaken them for a brief period, but the only want to kill them was by beheading.

Dean opened the trunk again and looked around until he'd found the large machete. Weapon, check. He took one of the handguns and opened the chamber, loading it with remembered ease. Back when he'd gone to school, he remembered people using the expression 'like riding a bike.' He'd never really understood that, because Dad never got around to teaching him how to ride a bike, but he had taught him how to handle a gun with his eyes closed and he hadn't forgotten.

He looked around for a target and saw a twisted bear can laying in the grass. Leveling the gun, he aimed and fired. The pang of the bullet hitting the can echoed around him and he smiled grimly. Like handling a gun.

Ten minutes later, he was back in the car with his gun, a small cross bow, another second machete, and a change of clothes that didn't reek of sex. Bad enough to face a den of vampires smelling of week old body odor, but he'd be damned if he was going in smelling like cum, as well.

Of course, that having been said, he had no idea where the vampires were, except in the woods. Opening the book again, he checked some more of the notes, dread leveling in his stomach as he did. Nesting in groups of eight to ten, they sent smaller parties out to search for prey. That's was a whole hell of a lot of vampires.

The only thing that comforted him about the whole fucking thing was that they apparently kept their victims alive for days, sometimes weeks. Then again, it also said they bled them slowly and if anything touched his Sammy, he wouldn't just kill it, he'd fucking make it hurt first.

Putting the car in gear, he headed back to the forest where he'd lost Sammy, figuring he'd start there.

*

*

*

Just before dawn, they threw the man back in the cage. Sarah and the others had huddled around him again, apparently intent on protecting him for what it was worth, but once the creatures were gone, they turned their attention to the hurt man. Sammy saw the bit marks through the torn clothes and he knew what these things were. Vampires. Blood suckers. Demons. He'd thought all that was over, it almost felt like a bad dream now, but he knew it wasn't and this was the proof.

"Sarah?" She looked at him sharply, but didn't say anything. He huddled back against the wall, picking at the toes of his shoes.

He'd needed new ones for a while now, but he hadn't told Dean, because whenever he said he needed something, Dean ended up doing those things and Sammy didn't like that. In fact, it was his fault that this had happened in the first place. He'd been hungry and he'd whined about it, complaining when Dean asked if he could hold out till the next town. It had been almost twenty four hours since he'd eaten last and it had hurt. Less than a minute of pouting and Dean had caved. He'd parked the car in the trees, a block from the bar, and half an hour later he'd come back with that trick. If Sammy had just kept his stupid mouth shut, none of this would have happened. They'd have found a better town, maybe one they could stay in for a while.

"Hey, kid." He looked up at Joe, who had sat down next to him. "You hungry?"

He started to say no, but his stomach made a loud protest. How long had he been unconscious? Joe chuckled, "Roy, pass me the bread."

The large, dark man handed over a loaf of bread and Joe broke some off. "It's not much, but it's something. They gave us rations so we wouldn't die on them."

"Thank you." Sammy took the bread and ate quickly, but he instantly regretted it, because now that it had something to work with, his stomach got louder.

"Kid, when's the last time you ate?" Sammy flushed bright pink and ducked his head, shrugging. Joe reached over and lifted his chin with one finger. "Sammy?"

"I don't know, I had Breakfast Jacks on..." he thought back, "Wednesday, I think?"

Joe stared at him for a moment, before breaking off another, larger chunk of bread and handing it over. "Roy, open one of them cans of beans and hand it this way."

Sammy shook his head, but Joe gave him a stern look that reminded Sammy of Dad, or what he remembered of him, anyway. "It's Friday, that makes it at least two days since you ate last. Go on."

He couldn't argue with that, especially when his stomach growled again and this time it was loud enough that Sarah looked back in concern. Taking the offered can of food, he quickly dug in. Joe smiled down at him and for a moment, Sammy felt safe, like back when Dad was with them, protecting them from the evil things.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "You remind me of my dad."

Joe raised a surprised eyebrow, "That's a first. Who was your dad then?"

Sammy put another spoonful of cold beans in his mouth. Dean had told him never to talk about Dad to anyone, it was one of the only rules that his brother imposed, right along side with Sammy staying out of sight when Dean was making money. If anyone knew who their dad was, they'd know who they were and then they might be separated.

Joe studied him carefully while he ate. When it seemed like Sammy had finished eating, Joe leaned towards him and asked, "What did you say your brother's name was?"

He looked into the can rather than at Joe. "I didn't."

After a few minutes of silence, Joe shrugged, "You should get some sleep."

With food in his stomach, Sammy realized how exhausted he was. Besides if he was asleep, Joe couldn't ask him questions that he didn't want to answer. He laid down and pillowed his head on his arms, looking at the older man they had brought back, who was now overly pale as well, just like Joe. He couldn't help staring at the wounds on his arms, vicious bite marks where the vampires must have fed on him. Sam buried his head in his arms to muffle his voice. "Please hurry, Dean."

*

*

*

They'd been on the road for six months. Going from one town to the next, stopping when they'd found somewhere Dean could make money. Sammy wasn't so ignorant as to not understand what was going on. He may have been eleven, but he wasn't stupid. Curling up tighter in the back of the Impala, he shivered. It was snowing out and he was freezing, but there wasn't enough money for a room yet and turning on the heater would waste gas they didn't have. It was still warmer in here, though, huddled up in the worn blankets, than outside, which was the only reason Dean was letting him stay in the car at all.

"What are you selling?"

"Whatever. Hand, mouth, you decide."

Sammy scowled. Anyone who didn't know Dean might have called it casual, but Sammy knew better.

"What if I want something else?"

_Something else?_

"That's not for sale."

"Everything's for sale. Two hundred bucks and all you have to do is bend over."

"I said no. Hand job's forty, blow job's sixty, you want anything else, you can keep walking."

Sammy grit his teeth as he did the math. He'd never stayed this close to Dean while he worked and his brother certainly wasn't answering questions about what he did. Usually, he liked to pretend it hadn't happened at all. Sammy's mouth went dry at the implications of those numbers. Forty for a hand job, sixty for a blow job. Dean usually came back with over a hundred, sometimes two.

There was a long pause and Sammy hoped the man would leave, because then he could get out of the car and tell Dean to forget it, it was getting late and they'd just keep each other warm, but the pause ended with, "I've got sixty."

"Good."

Sammy closed his eyes and bit his lip, pressing his face into the seat cushion as he heard a zipper being opened and gravel shifting. He waited for the wet noises that always came with Dean sucking cock, but instead, he heard, "Hey, what are you doing?!"

That was Dean, who apparently didn't have his mouth full of the guy's penis. The car lurched violently and there were muffled sounds of struggling. Sammy half sat up, looking over the top of the seat and his breath caught in his throat. Dean was bent over the trunk, his arms twisted back, a hand over his mouth. The man standing behind him, a wide grin spread across his face.

Sammy sat up a little more and Dean's eyes lock on his, wide and terrified and that scared Sammy. He'd never seen Dean afraid of anything, Dean was always the brave one. The hand over Dean's mouth moved away, clenching into the hair that Dean kept complaining he needed to cut. He leaned closer, putting his lips next to Dean's ears. "Scream, pretty boy, I dare you."

Silently, Sammy begged Dean to scream, because it was late and, yeah, the bar was closed, but the employees were still in there and maybe a few drunk stragglers if they were lucky. Dean didn't scream, though, he just stared at Sammy, mouthing 'look away' as the man laughed, a deep, deadly chuckle.

Dean's hands were let go of. He hit back, but his position, bent over the truck with his head held down in a tight grip, didn't give him enough leverage and the man was stronger, holding Dean down while he unbuckled his pants. Sammy finally did look away, ducked back under the seat and stared ahead at the door, trying to ignore the sounds of his brother being raped. He clamped his hands over his ears when Dean's noises became too close to crying.

_Dean didn't cry. Dean didn't cry._

It felt like Sammy had been listening to that muffled sound for hours, even though he knew it hadn't actually taken very long, but finally the car stopped jerking. Sammy moved his hands from his ears slowly and heard the disgustingly satisfied grunts from the man and Dean's hitched breathing, but that was all.

_Let him leave. Please, let him leave._

"Come on, boy, you and me are going to take a ride. Where are your keys?" Sammy heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh and Dean cried out. "Where are your fucking keys?"

"Go to hell." It sounded pained, but Sammy recognized Dean in the defiance and it made him feel better.

Another fleshy smack and a body hit the ground. Sammy flinched and huddled further into the seat. A moment later the driver's side front door was yanked open and the man climbed half in. He was probably looking for the keys, but his eyes settled immediately on Sammy's shadowed figure. "Who the fuck are you?"

Sammy tried to dodge, but a hand latched onto his arm and he struggled, getting out half a scream before a fist collided with his face, jerking his head back violently and jarring his senses.

A moment later, a muffled shot rang out. The man screamed and dropped Sammy's arm and Sammy scrambled frantically, crawling out the back door and looking through it at the man who was now laying on the ground beside the car, clutching his bleeding leg.

Dean was standing beside the open trunk, a gun in his hands, a deadly serious look on his tear stained face. The only thing Sammy could think was 'Dean doesn't cry,' hoping that if he thought it enough, then maybe it would be true.

"Sammy, get over here. You back away from the car."

The gun was shaking, but that didn't scare Sammy, because Dean had been handling guns for longer than he could remember. He ran to Dean, but didn't touch him - you don't touch a nervous man with a gun, no matter how much you trusted him.

With a scowl, the man clutched his leg tighter, blooding seeping out from between his fingers. "You shot my leg, you little fuck, I can't back away from anything."

"Then crawl."

Dean cocked the gun and Sammy watched as the man forced himself to crawl back until Dean started walked forward, still holding the gun on the guy. "Toss your wallet over."

He did and Dean motioned Sammy to pick it up. "Sammy, get in, you're driving." Sammy did as he was told and Dean flashed him a pained, reassuring smile. "Lock the door." Dean got in the back seat, gingerly sitting down, and shut the door, "Drive for half an hour and then pull over."

Dean wouldn't let Sammy take him to a hospital, but the man had had over five hundred dollars in his wallet. Sammy asked Dean why someone would carry that much cash around, but Dean didn't want to talk about it, he was just glad that they had enough to rent a motel room for a full week and get medical supplies. They threw the empty wallet in a dumpster.

Later that night, Sammy pretended to be asleep while Dean stroked the side of his face where a bruise had started forming. He wanted to ask Dean if he was okay, but he was afraid Dean would stop and it had been a long time since they'd been together like this and he missed it. So, he didn't say anything and eventually he fell asleep.

*

*

*

Dean wasn't sure whether to consider himself lucky or in deep shit, though he was pretty sure it was a bit of both. He'd combed the woods all night with no luck. Eventually he'd had to concede defeat and go back to his car, only to find a pretty women leaning against it, looking at him with a lazy smile. She looked... he couldn't even describe it, but he just _knew_ that she wasn't human. Maybe it was all that training Dad had drilled into him and maybe it was instinct, but he knew without a doubt that this was one of the things had taken his brother.

"Hey, little boy."

"I'm not little."

He clutched the handle of the machete sheathed at his hip and she eyed it for a moment, her smile widening. "Now, what exactly are you planning to do with that toy?"

"Behead your sorry ass."

She laughed and pushed herself up onto the hood of his Impala. "And why would you want to do that?"

His hand flexed around the handle, itching to pull it out. "Because you took my brother, bitch."

"Strong words for such a little man." The she-bitch stood up and stalked towards him and Dean backed up, giving himself enough ground to maneuver. "I'd put the toy away if I were you."

"Why's that?"

"Because you'll be no good to him dead."

He pulled the weapon out, "Give back Sammy, or I swear..."

"Swear what, little hunter? You'll give me a scratch?"

Without thinking he charged her and she dodged, laughing. They moved around each other, Dean occasionally lunging and her moving out of his way with ease. "Surely you can do better than that, little hunter."

"I told you I'm not little!"

She held her hands out to her sides, "Not little, eh? Do your worst, I dare you."

So, he did. She wasn't really watching him now, she was just laughing at him, mocking him. Putting his hand behind him, he drew the small crossbow, letting instinct take over as he aimed and fired.

She looked at the small bow lodged in her chest and continued to laugh. "Stake through the heart doesn't work."

"Dead man's blood, bitch."

Her smiled dropped and she growled, but he could see that it was already affecting her. She dropped on her knees and he came forward, wielding the machete.

"Kill me and they'll come for you."

He raised the machete, his mouth set in a grim line. "Let them."

*

*

*

Sammy woke to the feeling of someone trying to rip his arm off and the sound of yelling. He opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar man in a leather jacket dragging him out of the cage. Looking back, he saw Joe and Roy fighting with three of the other vampires, trying to get to Sammy, and Sarah was outside the cage as well, being held by two of the creatures.

The monster holding him smiled and he tried to pull away, tried to pry the fingers off his arm, but it just gripped tighter, cutting off the circulation. He whimpered before he could stop himself. The door to the cage clanged shut, leaving Sammy outside of it with them.

Without a word, Sarah and he were dragged out of the room. "Mikey, you'll break the kid's arm."

Mikey relaxed his grip, but it didn't help to make Sammy feel any better as he was hauled up the stairs. More vampires sat around the living room they entered into, lounging on chairs and a sofa - one sat in another's lap, grinding herself against him lewdly and Sammy found himself blushing at the display. It was one thing to know what grown ups did behind closed doors, it was another to see it.

"Brought the kid like you asked, and a snack." He motioned to Sarah, who was already being eyed hungrily by the room's occupants.

Mikey was speaking to a man leaning in the corner. He stepped forward, into the light of the room and Sammy stiffened. The others almost seemed human, but this one moved strangely, with an other-worldly grace and confidence. He approached and crouched down, giving Sammy a long look.

"Your brother killed one of my children."

"Good." Sammy instantly regretted it as the vampire's hand moved forward quickly, as if to hit him, but it stopped short and touched his face instead, running a finger down his jaw.

"Your brother killed one of my children." He paused, Sammy didn't say anything this time. "I'm thinking that perhaps I should return the favor."

"No!" Sarah struggled against the vampire's holding her. "Leave him alone, he's only a boy!"

The leader, because Sammy realized that was what the man who'd been talking to him was, didn't even turn his head to look at her. "Kill her."

Sammy watched in horror as four of the creatures descended on her and she screamed and screamed and then the noises choked into silence and he realized the screaming wasn't coming from her anymore, it was coming from him. The leader put a hand gently over his mouth and he instantly went silent, fear closing his throat.

"You're going to stay up here and play with us for a while and then we're going to go play with your brother." Sammy tried to shake his head, but the hand tightened. "Sh."

Mikey knelt behind him and took his upper arms, holding them against his sides, "Taste him, Randall."

Sammy tried to twist away, but it was like he was being held in a vice. Not taking his eyes from Sammy's, Randall took one of the boy's wrists and lifted it. The teeth came out and Sammy really struggled then, not sure whether he should back away from the thing in front of him that was salivating over his wrist or the thing behind him that was panting in his ear. Teeth punctured his wrist and he cried out. His veins felt like they were on fire and he could have sworn it lasted eternity, but he knew it didn't, because he was still alive and Randall's extra teeth were missing again.

"Not nearly so innocent."

*

*

*

Dean had two options and neither of them were all that appealing. He could try to catch them unaware by waiting till morning and sneaking into the house, but he was only one, out of practice kid and if his count was right there were eleven of them in there. On the other hand, he could wait until night, when some of them would be sent out to look for food, or him, and then he could storm the place and it would one, out of practice kid against six or seven of them, but they'd be six or seven very awake, very alert vampires.

In the end, he decided that while killing the bloodsuckers was tempting, it wasn't what was important; getting Sammy out was. So, he sat in the woods and plotted, while he waited for the sun to come up.

It had taken him three hand jobs and five hours to get enough information to find this place. First there was the rundown house that was presumed to be haunted; then no, it wasn't haunted, but there was a gang that was holed up in there, bad business, don't go near it and no, won't telling you where it is; and finally, yeah, it's about four or five miles that way and down a dirt road, Old Oakspring's neighborhood, no one lives there anymore, you can't miss it. The house was two stories tall and sitting with its back end to the woods. Just like the trick had said, it was in a run down neighborhood a few miles from town and he would have doubted any of the other dilapidated houses were occupied, even if the guy hadn't said so.

There was some movement just after sunup, but then it stopped. Patience had never been one of Dean's virtues, especially when Sammy and danger were involved, but he sat it out for an hour, two hours, watching and waiting and making sure that they really had gone to sleep. By eleven, the sun was high and he decided to make his move.

He crept up to the house, eyeing the doors and boarded up windows, but didn't see anything suspicious. If Dad's journal was right, they'd be keeping prisoners somewhere. He walked around the exterior and a basement window caught his attention. Leaning down, he peered inside. Bingo, a cage with people in it. It was too dark to see if Sammy was in there, though.

To be honest, he'd expected the window to be locked, but it slid in without resistence and he almost laughed. Of course, they were vampires - if someone decided to break in it would be like delivery. Wiggling through the narrow gap, he cursed his growing body. A year ago this would have been a piece of cake.

"Who's there?"

He looked back sharply and fell to the ground in a crouch, his hand already on the handle of the machete attached to his hip. One of the men in the cage was looking at him and he realized it must have been him that spoke. Slowly, he stood and came over to the cage. Five men, but no Sammy. Was it even possible that he had the wrong den of vampires? "Hey, have any of you seen my brother, ten-years-old, skinny, about this tall?"

"He was _ten_?"

"That's just sick."

"Hey, get us out of here."

The man in front ignored the others and looked down at Dean with piercing, evaluating eyes until his gaze finally settled on the machete. "Who are you?"

"Dean."

"Sam and Dean." There was something in his voice, something that said it was familiar and Dean looked at him now, really looked at him. The men were all haggard, dirty, and worn; this one wasn't in any better shape, but where the others were scared, he stood his ground, firm and ready to fight. "Winchester?"

Dean's faced blanched, but after a moment, he nodded. If he'd known Dean's father, then maybe he was a Hunter, may he could help.

"Where's your father?"

"Not here."

There was an impossibly long pause and then, "Name's Joe. You got an extra one of those knives?" Dean reached behind him and pulled out the one he'd had strapped to his back, passing it through the bars. "You got anything to pick a lock with?" He reached into his pocket and held up his lock picking kit.

"Good boy, now get this door open." Dean was moving before he even realized he was complying. Not that it was a bad thing, it was comforting, really, to be taking orders from someone who knew what they were doing instead of fumbling around it himself.

"Where's Sammy?"

"They took him upstairs." The door opened and Joe put a hand on Dean's shoulder. The other men were watching Joe closely, waiting for instructions. "We're going up. Me first, then Dean, then the rest of you. Be quiet, head for the front door, then keep running and don't look back. Dean, you get your brother and you get the hell out, do you understand me?"

Dean nodded. That had been his plan to begin with, anyway. The house was eerily quiet as they stepped through the door and into an empty living room. Well, almost empty - the corpse of a dead woman laying in the corner. Dean bit back a yelp when he noticed her empty eyes staring at him. Joe put a hand on his shoulder again and Dean watched him motion to the others, nodding his head towards the front door and they nodded back at him, giving him various good luck signs as they hurried out.

The rest of the downstairs was just as empty and Dean had to hold his breath as they crept up the stairs, cringing at every creak in the wood. He really, really hoped that vampires weren't light sleepers. The second floor was dark and Dean remembered seeing thick blackout curtains from the outside. The doors weren't shut, but Joe didn't seem concerned by that. He peered in one room after the other and Dean mimicked his movements, like he'd done with Dad.

At the third room, Joe stopped and motioned for Dean to come forward. If it hadn't been for Joe's hand staying him, he would have rushed in. Sammy was laying in a large bed, one of those monsters curled around him.

No, no no no, not Sammy. He'd done everything to protect Sammy and if that _thing_ had so much as _touched_ his brother...

Joe took Dean's face in his hand and shook his head slightly. He made a series of motions with his hands and Dean found that this was also like handling a gun, or riding a bike, or whatever your preference in analogy was, because he could interpret them without having to think about it. Be quiet, go to the left side of the bed, the side Sammy was on and don't move until he was told to.

He nodded and went forward. Closer up, he could see the dried tears that stained Sammy's face. His little brother's eyes were puffy, the skin underneath swollen and pink. His hands were balled up in fists, clutched tightly next to his body which was, thankfully, still clothed. Come to think of it, Dean didn't know if vampires could even have sex.

Joe motioned to him again and he watched carefully. Grab Sammy and get back. Then he held up three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. Dean grabbed Sammy's arms and dragged him off the bed, flinching at the terrified yelps as he pulled him across the room. Joe yanked the startled vampire around so that he was flat on his back and brought the machete down on his neck, severing the head.

Dean wanted to check on Sammy, he wanted to examine every inch of his brother for injuries and then just hold him to reassure himself that Sammy was still there, that Sammy was alive, but the house had erupted into action. Joe had said to get Sammy and get out and that was exactly what he was going to do.

The door was blocked and the only was out was the window that led onto a small balcony. Well, it was more of a ledge than a balcony, but it was safer than in this room. Opening it, he lifted Sammy up over the window. It scared him that Sammy was so silent and pliant, but he wasn't acting like he was in pain or like he'd been... changed. Outside on the ledge, Dean knelt down and looked up at Sammy, catching his eyes. They were dilated and unfocused.

"Sammy."

Sammy swayed where he stood and there was a loud crash and scream from the room. Dean looked back to see a headless corpse fall at Joe's feet. They had to get to the Impala and get the fuck out of here.

"Sammy, come on! It's Dean, Sammy! I need to know you can hear me."

Suddenly, Dean found himself on his ass, his arms full of his little brother, who still wasn't making any sound. "Okay, okay, Sammy, I need you to let go."

The arms around his neck tightened, threatening to cut off his air. Another crash, but this time, it was Joe who'd been sent flying across the room and Dean knew he didn't have much time. Save Sammy, save himself, that was all he could do. He didn't bother to tell Sammy what he was going to do. Lifting his brother up with one arm, he precariously climbed over the railing and look down, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before jumping off.

Pain shut up his leg when he hit the ground and he buckled, still clutching Sammy. He panted, looking up at the balcony, where he could still hear the sounds of fighting coming from the open window. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and he had to force a deep, painful breath to get his chest to expand.

Somehow he managed to get to his feet, despite the shooting pain in his leg and carry Sammy to the car. Every bone in his body hurt, but he concentrated on getting as far away from that house as he could. There was no way Joe could beat all of those things and if they were still there when the battle was over, it would be bad. Really, really bad.

When he came back to himself, they were parked behind a motel in... somewhere. He didn't remember how long he'd been driving, or Sammy falling asleep with his head in Dean's lap. Reaching down, he stroked his brother's hair and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. After several minutes, he gently slid out from under Sammy, who whined a little and clutched around until Dean took off his jacket and Sammy buried his hands in, holding it against him like a lifeline.

How had he fucked this up so badly? How could he have been so stupid? He was sixteen fucking years old, his brother was ten, they weren't fully trained to fight the kinds of things they knew were out there, so what the hell had he been thinking? Grabbing Dad's journal out of the backseat, he flipped through the pages until he came to a name he recognized, one he could put a face to.

There was change in the ash tray and Dean pulled out a handful of quarters, limping to a pay phone by the street. His hands were shaking so badly he kept dropping coins. He stopped and leaned against the booth, breathing deeply in and out until he'd gotten a hold of himself.

Finally, he stopped shaking and slipped the change into the phone. It rang twice before someone picked up and the relief that washed through Dean's body made his legs weak. "Bobby's Auto."

Sitting down on the ground, he held the phone to his ears with both hands and did what he should have done a year and a half ago. "Bobby, this is Dean. Dad's missing and Sammy's hurt and... and I need help."

_-Finis-_


	2. Part Two: Learning Curve

Title: Learning Curve  
Series: All We Have  
Pairing: Dean/Jo (overall: series will be Wincest)  
Rating: R (hard)  
Word Count: 5,243  
Warning: net; mentions of prostitution  
Summary: The boys have to learn to cope with the past.  
Author's Note: Due to the author's own stupidity, the boys' ages are based on the unofficial release - meaning that they are 6 years apart (as opposed to four). This is more of a fun interlude between Parts 1 and 3, but I loved writing it and really, it had to be done. Part 3, The Scent, sees the beginning of the Wincest, so please be patient.**  
**

* * *

**Learning Curve**

"Has he said how long John's been missing?"

"He won't talk about it. Neither of them will."

"No one's heard from him in over a year."

"That doesn't mean anything, Ellen, you know John."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean stood outside the door to the bar, listening to Bobby talking to someone named Ellen. Sammy was sitting next to him, arms around his legs, chin on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular. Bobby hadn't called the police, he hadn't turned Dean and Sammy over to the authorities. Instead, he'd taken them to a doctor friend of his, who'd treated Dean for a badly sprained ankle and fixed them up while Bobby made some calls, looking for someone who could take care of them. Five days later they were here, standing in front of the Harvelle's Roadhouse, Sammy with his arm lightly bandaged from elbow to fingers to hide the healing bite marks and Dean with a brace on his ankle, propped up on crutches… but only because Bobby had boxed his ears when he'd tried to walk without them.

"What are you doing here?" Dean whipped around. Or, well, he stumbled around, because it was hard to move quickly with crutches. A girl, probably only a year or two younger than Dean was standing a few feet away. She was cute, with blonde hair pulled back into a tangled ponytail and big brown doe eyes, wearing faded jeans, a tank top, combat boots and a stern expression. "I said, what are you doing here?"

Sammy stared at her, openly curious, but not talking. He hadn't said a word since Dean had pulled him out of the vampire's den.

Dean shrugged at her, "We're with Bobby."

"Oh." She tilted back on her heals. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dean, this is my brother Sammy."

She looked at Sammy, returning his curiosity, "Why doesn't he say anything?"

Protectiveness welled inside Dean, "Because he doesn't want to."

The door opened behind them. "Jo, get in here. You, too, boys."

Sammy scrambled up and clutched Dean's jacket, following him through the door and into the bar. Jo moving to stand next to a woman that Dean assumed was Ellen. Ellen returned his stare with a reproving glare. "Bobby tells me you called him because your dad's missing."

Sammy shrank behind Dean, who stood straighter. "Yes, ma'am."

"How long has he been missing?" Dean closed his mouth tightly as she frowned at him, reminding him strongly of when Dad had been about to punish him for doing something stupid. "Bobby says there are some serious miles on that car."

"We followed Dad around in it."

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down for a minute, but Dean wasn't caving. "Jo, go play out back."

"But, mama..."

"Now, honey." Jo sighed, but trounced outside. Bobby followed, giving the boys a sympathetic glance.

"I understand that something happened to you boys and I understand that you may not want to talk about it, but if you're going to stay here, you'll abide by my rules." _Stay here?!_ "First thing, I do not accept lying. You don't want to talk about it, then don't talk about it, but don't lie."

Sammy leaned over to look past Dean at Ellen.

"You don't go out without permission, you work here in the evenings and on weekends and you will be going back to school." Dean started to protest, but she raised an eyebrow and he shut up. "I had your records checked out and I know you haven't been back since last Fall. The chairman of the local school board was a Hunter, he retired when he lost his leg and he's agreed to let you boys attend there, no questions asked. You start in two weeks."

Dean wanted to argue. He wanted to say that he didn't have to do a damn thing this woman said, except that Sammy had lit up at the word school and that was the first time he'd seen Sammy look like that since before Dad disappeared.

"You will attend every class. If you miss a single day you had better be on your death beds. Do I make myself clear?"

Sammy walked out and stood beside Dean, though he still held his brother's jacket tightly. Dean fought the urge to put an arm around Sammy's shoulders. "Yeah, perfectly."

"Good. Oh, one more thing. You don't have a license and until you do, you don't step foot in that car."

"But...!"

"No, buts."

Sammy tugged on his sleeve and he looked at his brother, who looked back up at him, looking younger than ten even and that was young enough. Sammy came first. They could be safe here and fed and Sammy could go to school. He'd always been good at school.

"Fine."

Sammy smiled.

*

*

*

**Four Years Later:**

"Aunt Ellen! Aunt Ellen!"

"Shut up, geek face, and stop calling her that, she's not your aunt."

Sammy ignored him. "Aunt Ellen!"

Ellen came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag and looked at the boys, smiling at Sammy before casting Dean one of her warning looks that said she'd heard what he'd called Sammy. "What is it, Sam?"

"I got my test back!" He handed it to her and her smile widened as she pulled him into a rough hug.

"A+ in English. What am I going to do with two geniuses in the family?"

Sammy blushed, "I'm not a genius."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, stop filling his head with nonsense."

Ellen gave Dean another look and he waved his hand, "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll be out back."

He gave his brother one last look before heading towards the back where the large bags of trash from last night were waiting to be loaded onto the flat bed and driven to the dump. Jo was standing outside, leaning against the wall in her most worn and faded jeans, looking as if she'd been waiting all day, when he knew for a fact that she'd only been home for an hour.

Jo and Sammy went to the same school, but Jo was a senior and got out early, whereas Sammy stayed right up until 3:00 and Dean had to pick him up, because Sammy didn't like riding the bus. Secretly, Dean preferred it that way, it meant he was the first one that got to hear about Sammy's day.

"What kept you?"

Dean pulled his gloves down from the wall, "Sammy got an A+ on his test."

"He'll be joining Ash at MIT if you're not careful."

Dean's stomach dropped and it must have shown on his face, because she winked at him, grabbing the first bag and hoisting it only the trick. In the past four years, Sammy had changed so much that sometimes Dean hardly recognized him. It hadn't happened overnight or anything, the first time they had taken Sammy to school and he realized that he wouldn't even be in the same building as Dean, he'd thrown a fit, but slowly, he'd gained independence.

He'd also grown, and not in any small way, either. There had been a brief period when he was twelve that he'd gotten a little on the chubby side, but then he'd shot up and at fourteen, he was almost as tall as Dean's twenty and he was gangly skinny, even though he ate his weight in food three times a day.

Dean wouldn't admit it, but he liked it here, and not just because Sammy had flourished, but because it felt like... well, not home, but as close to it as he'd gotten to it since he was four. He had his brother and Ellen and all the Hunters that used to be friends of his father's that were glad to teach him when they were passing through.

"Hey, slow poke, I thought I was supposed to be helping, not the other way around."

He even had Jo - Jo flashed him a smile and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively - even if she was a pain in the ass.

"Yeah, yeah, all you ever do it bitch and moan, little Joanna."

"Deano."

"JoJo."

"Jackass."

"Princess."

The next moment he had a face full of onion slices and Jo was laughing at him. He picked up a handful of yesterday's lettuce and tossed it at her. She tried to dodge, but they caught her hip and she gave a disgusted glare at the smeared mess. "Oh, gross, Dean!"

"You started it."

"Did not!" She threw a beer crusted paper towel and he countered with stale, buttered bread.

"That's it, you're dead, pretty boy!" He was caught off guard for a moment, forgetting where he was, losing himself in memories that he tried everyday to repress.

_You look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth._

_Hey, pretty boy, how much to fuck your ass?_

_You're real perty when you cry._

He was pulled out of it almost instantly as she barreled into him, knocking him on his ass. She reached behind him, trying to get a grip on his underwear to give him a wedgie.

He laid down and grabbed her arms, rolling over so that he was on top of her, holding her down and she went limp, grinning up at him. "What now, Deano?"

Suddenly, he knew what this was about and he couldn't fathom why he hadn't seen it before. She was flirting with him!

He let her go, practically jumping off her. Jo frowned and sat up, looking at him in confusion and he was so glad when the backdoor opened, cutting off whatever question she was opening her mouth to ask. Sammy stepped out. He looked at them suspiciously. "Ellen says that if you don't stop screwing around, she's gonna come out here and whoop your sorry ass."

"Sammy, don't make me wash that mouth of yours out with soap!"

Sammy stuck out his tongue at Dean, "You'd have to catch me first and it's Sam."

That was Sammy's new thing. Apparently, Sammy was a baby's name and now that he was almost as tall as Dean, he wasn't a baby anymore, so it was Sam. He'd always be Sammy to Dean, though.

"Hey."

He looked back at Jo and a felt his ears heat up as he remembered having her under him; her slim hips trapped under his weight, wiggling against him before surrendering... "I can finish this on my own. You go help your mom."

She frowned, "Dean..."

"Just go, okay?"

*

*

*

Dinner was tense and Dean wasn't even sure why, but he got the feeling it was his fault. Jo kept glaring at him like he was a slime demon and Sammy kept throwing glances between Dean and Jo, pouting at his plate. Ellen noticed, but didn't say anything. At least, she didn't for the first twenty minutes, but when it became apparent that no one intended to eat anything, she order Jo and Sammy to go watch television.

"Mom."

"Now, Jo."

Sammy threw his napkin down, storming out and Jo followed. Ellen quickly turned on Dean. "What the hell was that about?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me, Dean."

He put his fork down on his plate and glared at her. "Okay, then, it's none of your business."

"If it involves my daughter, it is my business and if you haven't noticed, Dean, I have put up with a lot of your crap over the last few years, so don't start with me. What happened?"

He scowled at the table, hating this. "Nothing, okay? Nothing happened. She made a move, I backed off and that was it. Sammy... hell, I'm not even sure why he's pissed."

"Promise me, Dean."

He looked at her and sighed deeply. "I promise, Ellen, nothing happened."

After a moment, she nodded. "I got a call from Caleb. He says he has a job and he'd like your help. Something involving a fire demon."

"Really?" Caleb had promised Dean the next time he had a job involving a real demon, he'd let him come, but Dean hadn't really thought he'd meant it. "Can I go?"

Ellen nodded. "Yes, Dean, you're twenty, so I hardly think I could stop you, but you have to tell Sam."

That was harsh. He fought the scowl that threatened to reassert itself. This wasn't the first hunting trip he'd been on, but telling Sammy that he was going hunting was never easy. In fact, that was why Ellen made him do it. "When does he get here?"

"He'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon."

Dean gave her the customary goodbye nod and went through the kitchen door and into the living room where Jo and Sammy sat on the couch. He doubted Jo noticed it, but Sammy was practically leaning over the arm of the sofa in his effort to sit as far away from her as possible.

"Hey, kido, can I have a word with you?"

Sammy didn't look up, just stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, brushing past Dean on the way to his bedroom. It was a small room, barely large enough for the two single beds, let alone the dresser. The wooden floor was scarred from when they'd first moved in and Dean had had to shove the beds together, because Sammy kept crawling in with him at night and one of them would eventually fall off. Now that Sammy was older, they slept apart mostly. Although, sometimes Sammy still had nightmares and Dean would put the beds together for the night so they could huddle together like they used to do in the car.

Tonight wasn't one of those nights. Sammy sat on his bed, sulky and breaking Dean's heart, because he knew it was about to get worse. Sammy looked up at him obstinately. "What?"

"Caleb is picking me up tomorrow."

As predicted, Sammy's face went white and then red. "Don't go. I've got a bad feeling."

"You've always got a bad feeling, Sammy, and I always come back just fine."

"But..."

"No buts, Sammy, I'll drive you to school tomorrow, but you'll have to take the bus home."

Sammy's lip trembled and he crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his feet up on the bed. "Fine."

"Sammy..."

"It's Sam."

Sammy got off the bed and stormed out of the room. Dean started to follow, but Jo stepped in the way, looking at him with as much recrimination as Sammy.

"Not you, too."

"Going hunting?"

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, what, you gonna tell me not to go, too?"

She shook her head and looked at him, but he couldn't read her face. Her hand came up and cupped the back of his head, pulling him down as she lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him almost chastely. As she pulled back, she swept her tongue over his lips.

"Be careful."

Dean watched her leave and his skin crawled. He felt dirty.

*

*

*

He wasn't pretty. Dean ran his hands over his face, feeling the stubble scratch his fingers. He'd been so happy the day he'd started growing facial hair. If he kept it at just the right stage of stubble, it made his jaw line look harder and took some of the softness away from his lips and then he was handsome, not pretty.

Jo's words echoes in his head, followed by the words of all those men that he couldn't even remember the faces of.

"Hey, Dean, you okay over there?"

He looked at Caleb, who was trying to keep his eyes on the road while simultaneously throwing Dean concerned glances. Dean pushed himself up from his slouch and nodded, "Yeah, no, I'm fine, just... Sammy was pretty pissed last night."

"Ah. How's his training coming."

"Fine." Dean had insisted that Sammy train with him four times a weak, because eventually, they'd have to leave the shell of protection that Ellen provided and then they'd be on their own again. Dean wanted to know that Sammy could protect himself. "He wants to join the soccer team."

Caleb chuckled, "Soccer, huh?"

"Yeah, I told him, no. There's not enough time between homework, working at the bar, and training."

"And?"

"And he's trying out next year."

"That boy's got you wrapped around his finger."

Dean nodded, a half smile on his lips. "Just don't tell him that."

"Bad news, Dean, I think he already knows." Dean shook his head, laughing. It was true, he couldn't deny Sammy anything, especially when he pouted. If Dean had it his way, he'd take care of Sammy and never leave Ellen's, but for that to work, Sammy would have to never grow up and that just wasn't going to happen.

The only thing Dean was good for was hunting and he knew it. He'd been lousy in school. Hell, he would have dropped out before graduating, except Ellen threatened to kick him out if he did. Sammy, though, was another story. Sammy was really smart and Dean was starting to worry that Sammy wouldn't want to hunt.

Caleb pulled into a bar, claiming that they needed food and he needed to pee, so Dean shook off the thought. He probably had nothing to worry about. Demons had killed both their parents and Sammy and him would hunt them down and kill them, slow and painful.

Dean preferred stopping at diners and he'd made no secret of it, but Caleb was the driver and driver picked the rest stops. Looking around the dingy bar, Dean watched some men playing pool, wondering if he would have been able to get in here back then or if he would have had to... he stopped himself and ordered a drink.

The bartender was a pretty woman in her early twenties. She smiled as she passed him a Miller and then winked. Dean gave her a half smile and ducked his head, hoping to deter her from further flirting.

"Hey, cutey. What's your name?"

Looking up reluctantly, he forced himself to keep smiling, because he hated admitting when he was nervous. "Dean Colt."

"Like the gun?"

"Yeah," and didn't that just turn her on, because she was licking her lower lip. It was a nice lower lip, full and pink, like her nipples, which were just showing over the top of a tank top that was cut far too low to be considered decent.

She leaned forward and he stared at her face in favor of looking down her shirt. "That's cool."

Thankfully, Caleb chose that moment to show up and Dean relaxed. The girl looked at Caleb in annoyance, but got him the beer he requested with minimal attitude. Then Caleb looked at Dean and motioning to a table in the back of the bar. "I'm going to go sit over there for a while. You have fun, kid."

Before Dean could protest, Caleb was gone again and he was left staring at the bartender, who seemed more than just a little pleased at the turn of events. "Hi, again."

Dean tried to play it off. He talked to her, because she wouldn't leave him alone otherwise. After about half an hour, when it became apparent he wasn't falling for her, she lost interest and went back to her job. Caleb came and got him and they hit the road.

It was silent this time. Not that it was usually loud, but Caleb was edging on his seat, like there was something he wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it. Finally, Dean couldn't stand it anymore. "What?"

Caleb looked at him briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. "Nothing, kid, I was just..." he flinched and Dean thought that couldn't be a good sign. "I was just wondering if you, you know... bat for the home team?"

"Do I _what_?" Dean was perfectly aware of what that meant, but he couldn't wrap his head around why Caleb would be saying that about him.

"You know, are you... gay?"

"No!"

"Don't get defensive, Dean, not like I'd think less of you if you were, it's just that me and the boys have noticed how you don't really... get along with the girls." Dean bent forward, burying his burning face in his hands. "Come on, Dean, did you think we wouldn't figure it out? They all but throw themselves at you and you never look twice. If anything, you run screaming."

"I do not!"

"Okay, you don't run screaming - you excuse yourself and you make Jo wait the table."

Dean looked up, trying to ignore the fact that he knew he was tomato red. "Caleb, I'm not gay, I just don't like the girls I've met so far. Now can we drop this?"

Caleb laughed a little, but it was clearly in a relieved sort of way that made Dean feel even worse. "All right, we'll drop it, but just to let you know, if you decide you are, you can tell me."

Dean nodded and sat up, looking out the window. "Fine."

*

*

*

The job went off without a hitch. Fire demon done and dealt with and they were back at the Roadhouse, all in under a week's time. Except now, Dean was starting to think things he hadn't thought before. Like, what if he was gay? He hadn't liked the sex he'd had with men and he'd always assumed that meant he was straight, but Caleb was right, he'd never really been attracted to girls either.

Maybe he should just give girls a try. The idea of sex in general had always made him a bit queasy, but it had been two years, maybe it was about time he got over it.

"Dean, you back here?" Jo came around the corner of the weapon's shed, spotting Dean sitting on the ground. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere. What are you doing?"

"Thinking." He stood up and leaned against the wall. "Do you need something?"

She shook her head. "No, Mom was worried, so she told me to come find you." She came up and stood next to him. "You've been real quiet since you came back. Did something happen?"

"No." Dean hated lying to Jo, but what was he supposed to tell her?

"I'm glad you made it back safe."

He turned to look at her, to tell her that he was fine and could she leave him alone for a little while longer? Except when he moved, her lips met his again and they were kissing. Part of him wanted to push her away, but the other part was winning out, the part that thought he should give it a try and who better to try it with than Jo. At least he trusted her.

Slowly, he kissed her back. It wasn't the first time he'd kissed anyone. Sometimes a trick had gotten caught up in whatever moment they thought they were having and Dean had learned to reciprocate, because it hadn't meant anything, anyway. She moved to standing in front of him and then leaned in, pressing him between her and the wall and he felt instantly suffocated.

Shoving her around, he switched their positions, so she was under him and he was leaned down slightly, smothering her with his mouth. One of his hands stole down and cupped her ass and he thought, 'this isn't so bad.' She moaned and he touched her hair. It was silky and nice and she was using tongue now and he did that, too. Nothing new, but he'd never been on this end of it before, never been the one in control.

Jo's hand moved over his shirt and then under it, pushing it up until he lifted his arms and let her take it off. Her hands on his back felt weird, they were small and her nails were long, scratching against his skin and sending tingles up his spine and to his... well, look at that, it did work.

Her shirt scratched against his skin, so he returned the favor of removing it for her. Her breasts weren't very big, but they fit in his hand perfectly and he kissed her again, massaging them experimentally.

Then Sammy's voice cut through his arousal. "Dean!"

Sammy was standing there, his face white and his green eyes too wide. Dean backed away from Jo, while she dropped to her knees, grabbing her shirt and pulling it back on, just in time to cover herself before her mother came around the corner.

"Sam, did you find..." Dean wasn't looking at his brother anymore, because Ellen's face was red with anger, taking in Dean's shirtless form and her daughter, still adjusting her dirt covered tank top. He was trying to think of anything he could say to make it better. If he had been paying attention to Sammy, perhaps what his brother said wouldn't have caught him so off guard.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?"

Every eye focused on the fourteen-year-old who wasn't pale anymore, but every bit as angry red as Ellen.

"Sammy..."

"You're doing it like you did with those men!"

Ellen's mouth dropped open, although Dean had to admit it had effectively quelled her anger at having found him with Jo. "No, Sammy..."

"Why?! We don't need the money anymore! Ellen takes care of us!"

"Sammy!"

Sammy started and suddenly seemed to realize that they weren't alone. He went back to pale so fast that Dean was afraid he'd pass out, but he didn't. Instead, he looked from Ellen to Jo then back to Dean before turning and running towards the house. Dean would have followed him, but he was pinned by Ellen's stare.

"I..."

"Jo, go see to Sam."

"Mom, this was my idea..."

"Jo."

Jo looked hurt, but went off, following the sound of the slamming door, leaving Dean alone. Alone with Ellen, who probably knew everything Dean had never wanted her to and he almost couldn't breathe because of it.

"Dean, for right now, I'm going to pretend that I don't know what you and Jo were doing. I'm going to pretend I don't know you lied to me..."

"I didn't," he needed her to know that, because as much as he may have not told her things, he had never lied to her. "Nothing was going on before, I swear."

She nodded her understanding, but didn't relax. "Okay, but I need answers, because what Sam said just now sounded like you've been getting paid to have sex with men."

There was a long pause and Dean had to fight not to back down from her. "Was. I haven't done it since we came here."

"Explain."

"It's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business." He recognized that tone, it meant this wasn't an argument, it was an order. Like when Dad said to take Sammy and run.

"Dad..." Damnit, his eyes were watering. He'd avoided talking about this for so long, but it was four years gone and it shouldn't hurt anymore. "He disappeared and we didn't have anywhere to go. Sammy needed food, we needed gas, and we needed somewhere to sleep sometimes."

"For how long?"

He wished he had his jacket on so he could put his hands in the pockets and she wouldn't have to see him balling his fists to try and get control over himself. "A year and a half." He knew the question that was going to come next, so he answered it before she could ask. "I was afraid they'd split us up. Dad always said that all we had was each other and with him gone, I just..."

_..didn't know what to do_. God, he'd only been fifteen, that was only a year older than Sammy was now, less really, because Sammy's birthday was coming up soon. Dean imagined Sammy doing the things he'd done and that was painful. He blinked and a few of the tears escaped "Ellen..." Only there wasn't anything he could say to make it better.

He closed his eyes, expecting her to leave, but she didn't. She came forward and wrapped her arms around him and he stopped crying. He was stunned and then relieved. There wasn't anything tense in her hold, just comforting. Slowly, he hugged her back. She was shorter than he was by inches, but that didn't matter, because right now, he felt really small.

"I never let Sammy do it, I swear. I never let anyone touch him."

"I know." She probably did, too. Their first few months there Dean had flipped out anytime one of the patrons had so much as clapped Sammy on the back. "You'll have to give Sam 'the talk.'"

Dean laughed and he felt better for it, pulling away from her. "Yeah, I guess so." God, that was going to be awkward and not the birds-and-the-bees kind of awkward of explaining what sex was, either, because Sammy sure as hell knew that, but the kind of awkward where you have to explain about the bees not paying for it.

Ellen touched his arm, "You okay now?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, more to herself and went back to looking at him, evaluative. "Now, about Jo..."

"Nothing happened."

"But it will." She interrupted him and held up a hand when he tried to refute it. "I don't like it, but Jo's almost eighteen and I suppose there are far worse people for her to be having a fling with. So, fine, but there will be ground rules. You be honest with her, tell her everything, because she is not going into this without knowing the truth and if things get far enough along, and I suspect they will, you will use protection or I will castrate you myself. Am I clear?"

He nodded, because Ellen wasn't in the mood to argue.

"Oh, and you're getting tested."

"I'm what?!"

"Tested. I'm hauling your ass to the clinic next week." He opened his mouth, but that damned raised eyebrow shut him up again. "Another thing, I better not catch you two sneaking off to fool around during work hours."

"No, ma'am."

Seeing that he was properly subdued, she sighed, "Put your shirt on and go talk to Sam. I expect he's locked himself in his room again, so you'll be climbing through the window, if he'll let you."

If Sammy would let him was right, because when his little brother was mad enough at him, Dean slept on the couch. She walked away from him, giving him a pat on the back and he knew that was her way of saying it was okay and... it was, wasn't it? She knew and she wasn't throwing him out, she wasn't taking Sammy away from him, or any of the other hundred things he'd feared would happen.

Of course, she didn't know everything, but she didn't have to. There were some things he'd keep to himself until the day he died. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was about to come and headed off towards the house.

_-Finis-_


	3. Part Three: The Scent

Title: The Scent  
Series: All We Have  
Pairing: Dean/Sam  
Rating: R (hard)  
Word Count: 9,277  
Warning: Wincest  
Summary: Once a vampire gets your scent, it's for life.  
Author's Note: This starts the Wincest. Part Four will be coming out soon, in a week or two. By way of teaser: anyone's been wondering about Daddy dearest?

* * *

**The Scent**

_"It really was a meeting  
The bottle took a beating  
The ladies of the manor  
Watched me climb into my car" _

Dean turned up the radio and tapped his hands on the wheel.

_"And I was going down the track  
about a hundred and five  
They had the stopwatch rolling..."_

His phone rang, vibrating against his ass and he cursed, struggling to maintain control over the car while he lifted hips and dug into his back pocket for the cell. Pulling it out, he flipped it open to make sure he didn't miss the call and dropped it in his lap, turning Black Sabbath down before he picked it up again.

"Hello?"

"Dean Winchester, where the hell are you?"

Shit, it was Ellen. He hadn't expected her to figure out that he'd lied about where he was going for another few days, at least. Fucking Ash probably spilled it... again. "Um," he eyes caught a passing sign, "Coming up on Bolder, Colorado. I'm heading for Rachael, Nevada, should be there in a day or..."

"Turn around, come home."

"Come on, it's a routine haunting, I'll be back in less than a week."

"Sam's here."

He forgot how to breathe. "Sam?"

"Yeah, he showed up a few hours ago. He doesn't look good."

Dean gripped the wheel and turned the car sharply, making the u-turn and then hit the gas, picking up speed. "What's he said?"

"Not much. All we've gotten out of him is that his girlfriend's dead, something about a demon and then he asks for you."

A cold chill ran through Dean. "A demon, what kind of demon? Put Sam on the phone."

"Can't, we just got him to sleep not ten minutes ago. Jo had to get him to take something and he won't be waking up for eight hours at least. Just get here as fast as you can," she revised that statement, "without getting yourself killed."

Hanging up the phone, Dean concentrated on the road. Sam had left for college two years ago and they hadn't seen each other since. It wasn't that they were fighting, per say, they were just having an extended disagreement. The only thing Dean was good for was hunting and even if he'd known for years that Sam wouldn't be joining him, he'd hoped. Sam wanted a normal life, though, one that didn't involve any kind of fighting, or hunting, he'd wanted to go to school and study and get a job. Dean hadn't tried to stop him, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

So, when Sam had left, Dean had made damn sure he wasn't anywhere around, going on a hunting trip that kept him gone for two weeks. He'd stayed around the Roadhouse for Sammy until then, because Sammy needed a home and Sammy needed Dean to be there for him, but this wasn't Sammy anymore, this was Sam and Sam was going to go off to college and leave him.

The bitter anger had worn off soon enough and after a few months, he'd gone to the college, just to check on Sam, to make sure he was doing okay. Sam was doing better than okay; he was sitting around a table on campus, talking to friends, laughing. He was having a life, one that Dean didn't fit into.

Not that things were all bad. After he'd calmed down, he'd gone back to see Ellen and let her yell at him for disappearing like that and he'd better never do that again or she would rip him a new one and don't even think she couldn't do it. Of course, she couldn't keep him there and she knew better than to try, but he was to call in at least once a week and he was to tell her exactly where he was going. Dean rolled his eyes, but he was secretly glad that she hadn't stopped caring now that Sam was gone.

Rules that applied to him had also applied to Sam, although altered a little for his specific situation - call in once a week, let her know about his grades and girlfriends - and Ellen had passed everything on to Dean, every bit of information. Sam was fitting in, he had a girlfriend, he was making straight A's, he was taking the LSATS, Sam scored a 174, and yes, that was good. Everything that Sam did, Dean knew about and that was enough for him.

Only now there was something wrong, something to do with a demon, and Sam was back at the Roadhouse, waiting for Dean.

Deciding that he'd have time to reminisce later, Dean pressed harder on the gas and let the needle climb.

*

*

*

It was seven in the morning when Dean finally pulled into the Roadhouse. Ellen was probably awake, preparing the bar for patrons, because seven wasn't all that early for Hunters, but Dean wasn't there to see Ellen. He pulled his car back to the house and got out quietly, sneaking around the side. The window was unlocked, as usual, and he climbed in, careful not to disturb the line of salt that barred entry to demonic creatures.

Sam was asleep on his bed, his nostrils flaring and his cheek twitching in a nightmare. Those had stopped years ago and for a moment, Dean was at a loss for what to do. Thankfully, instinct kicked in. Climbing onto the single bed, he pulled Sam's head into his lap rested his back against the wall. For a moment, Sam tensed, but then his fingers curled around Dean's jacket, like they'd done so many times before and Dean found himself looking down at green eyes, misted over with sleep.

"Hey, little brother."

"Jess is dead."

"I know."

"The demon killed her." Dean's chest clenched tightly.

"Go back to sleep, Sammy, we'll talk about it later."

"It's Sam." Except that Sam was already asleep and Dean went about doing what came natural in these rare moments - he ran his hands through Sam's hair, soothing back the nightmares and letting his brother get some rest, despite the fact his own mind was whirling.

Not _a_ demon, _the_ demon.

*

*

*

It had been years since Dean had woken up with this particular crick his neck, the one that said he'd slept upright and hadn't moved the entire night. He opened his eyes and his old room came into focus, only from the wrong angle, because he wasn't on his bed. It wasn't unfamiliar, but it was unsettling, because he couldn't remember what might have prompted him to do that again.

The last time was when Sammy had a nightmare. It must have been a pretty bad one, since Sammy had been edgy and anxious about the idea of Dean and him sleeping in the same bed together ever since they had 'the talk.' Dean reached up to run his hand over his face and wipe the sleep out of his eyes, when he suddenly remembered.

He looked down and saw Sam still asleep on his lap, his mouth slack and his hand lying limply on Dean's thigh. Shaking his head, he reached down and shook Sam's shoulders, "Hey, dude, come on, wake up."

Sam shifted and opened his eyes, confusion written as clearly on his face as it must have Dean's. "Wha..." The confusion was replaced with something else and then washed away by a blank expression that reminded Dean eerily of Dad's, back when Dad had been around to make expressions.

"You gonna move, because I kind of have to pee?"

Quickly, Sam scrambled to sit up on the bed and put his elbows on his knees, while Dean stood and stretched, popping his bones back into place. He stepped into the hall, half worried about bumping into someone and having to explain why he hadn't said 'hi' before breaking in, but it was probably well after noon and Jo and Ash would be in the bar, so they had the house to themselves for now.

When he got back, Sam was pacing the room, his face set in that same angry mask he'd had the first time Dean had said he was going hunting, only it was more intense, more determined. He didn't even wait for Dean to say anything, just rounded on him, his shoulders squared. "We're hunting this thing down."

"I'm with you."

"We are going to kill it slow."

"Don't forget painful."

Sam didn't know it, but Dean had been there and done this. This thing had killed their mother and while Sam had no memories of her, Dean did. Whether it had killed Dad was up for debate, but it had been the cause of everything their dad had been doing, so in a way, it was responsible for him, as well and through that, responsible for everything that had happened to them on the road - for Dean selling himself, for Sammy getting hurt by those vampires. Now, Sam's girlfriend, Jess was dead and with it, that normal life that Dean had wanted so badly for his brother. The demon was going to pay.

A smile twitched on Sam's face, a brief flash of dimples. "Yeah, painful."

"Let's go to the kitchen and I'll show you what I've got."

Sam cooked them eggs, because he said he remembered Dean's cooking well enough and he was not going there. Dean had rolled his eyes and made a few snide remarks, but let him, because even though he'd never seen Sam touch a stove, whatever he managed had to be better than what Dean would have ended up burning.

They talked while they ate, or they talked while they pushed food around their plates. These are the confirmed sightings, these are unconfirmed, these are suspect, because there were no witnesses, these are the links to each one so far and after two hours they finally got to the part Dean had been dreading telling Sam. Sam held the paper that Dean had passed him and scanned it.

"This is from a collections agency, for a defaulted credit card."

"Look at the name." Dean shoved eggs in his mouth, because he didn't want to talk and, damn, even cold they tasted good. That cinched it, from now on, Sam was doing the cooking.

"Michael Folden." A pause, then Sam's brow started to knit and his mouth shaped into an 'oh.' "Your fake ID was for Michael Folden, Jr."

"Keep reading."

"Okay, fine, there's our hotel, diner, bar, bar, bar, diner, Dairy Queen, bar, bar, diner, bar... you know, it never occurred to me how many time we ate at the bar?"

"Keep going."

"bar, bar, Sonic, ammo, Conoco... wait."

Dean winked sarcastically, "Bingo."

"But, Dean, this charge was made like three months after he disappeared."

"I know." Yeah, Dean knew, because after finding it, he'd sat up all night and run through every memory of everything that had happened to him in those three months - every cock he had sucked, every hand job he had given, every time he had been called pretty, and every pained look he'd had to see on Sam's face because they were cold or hungry and didn't have enough money to take care of either.

"Wha... It's gotta be stolen, then, right? Someone stole Dad's credit cards and used... why are you shaking your head?"

"Because I already checked that out, it was Dad."

"How do you know?"

"After he defaulted on payments, the credit card agency did checks into all recent purchases. That one, they managed to get footage of. I saw his face, blurry and the picture was crap, but it was him."

Sam stared at the report and Dean knew exactly how he felt - numb, because pissed wasn't going to cover it and hurt didn't even begin to scratch the surface.

"Okay, so Dad was alive three months after his disappeared."

"Maybe, maybe not and don't give me that look. In this line of work you know things aren't always what they seem. He might have been alive, or it might have been something wearing him. Either way, the trial dries up after that."

Sam continued to hold the report in clenched hand. Another set of wrinkles dented the page, joining the ones Dean had made when he'd first held it.

"So, he was in... Wisconsin?"

"Yeah, near Milwaukee."

"We were..."

"In Tennessee." Dean knew the name of the town, too. He knew the name of the town, the bar they'd stopped at and exactly what they'd been doing when Dad had used his credit card to buy gas and a Coke.

_Swallow, pretty boy._

He grabbed up the dishes and dumped the mostly uneaten food in the trash before setting them in the sink. "I was headed for Rachael, Nevada on a routine ghost hunt. I've got to finish that before we head after the demon."

"Can't you pass it to someone else?"

Dean shook his head, "No, this is something I've got to do. I finish it and then we go hunting for the bigger fish. You game?"

Sammy ran his tongue along the inside of cheek and set down the paper suddenly, like it had burned him. "Yeah, okay, we do the ghost thing and then we go after it."

*

*

*

Of course, before they could do anything, Dean had to get yelled at by Ellen, for sneaking out and then sneaking back in and, yes, she'd heard his car pull up, so she'd known he was there, but that didn't make it acceptable. Eventually, she calmed down… eventually, being two hours and a group of scared hunters that had sat as far the fuck away as possible from the bar as Dean explained what was going on.

_The_ demon killed Jess, as in the same one that killed their mom and Sam wanted revenge. She made an under the breath comment that sounded too close to 'like father, like son' for his comfort, but she didn't tell him not to go. She told him to be careful and not to forget to call or she would send someone looking for him and he knew from experience that someone would probably be Caleb or Jeffrey or Mack or one of the other Hunters that had helped train Dean, so that they'd would be able to kick his ass for worrying Ellen. No one liked it when Ellen worried, Dean had learned that in a hurry.

Then, because getting yelled at by Ellen wasn't bad enough, he had to put up with being glared at by Jo. He and Jo had dated for only a few months before he broke it off. Thing was, Jo liked him and she liked sex and he didn't really like sex all that much, even when he was in control, which wasn't often with Jo, and he'd realized that the way he liked her was more like a kid sister than a girlfriend, which made him feel weird and dirty after the sex. That had also been his first lesson in breaking up - telling the truth wasn't always the best policy. Not that she still held it against him, they'd had years to hash that out, but she did like to see him stew in his own mess every now and then… and if she could add to that mess, then she was even happier.

Afterwards, they were on the road and Dean had to admit, it felt kind of good to have Sam there with him. He liked to think of himself as a loner, but with Sam it was different, because Sam was home. Oh, the Roadhouse was nice, it was a place to crash with nice people that cared about him and worried about him, but calling it home... well, home just wasn't a word that Dean really had a definition for.

The first time they stopped for food, Sam refused to let Dean stop at a bar, insisting that they get Sonic and Dean rolled his eyes, but in truth, he felt sick to his stomach. Just after sundown, Sam announced that he was tired of listening to Dean's crap music, so he wanted to drive and Dean was still achy and tired from the night before, so he agreed. The next morning they stopped at a Dairy Queen and Dean offered to buy Sam a dipped cone, just to tease him for acting like a kid about the whole bar thing.

They'd been driving in relative silence for hours before Sam finally spoke up. Dean could have kicked himself, because yeah, he was tired of the silence, but you really had to be careful what you wished for. "So, what's this ghost hunt about?"

"What do you mean, Sam? It's a ghost, I'm a Hunter. I'm going to waste its ass and feel good about it in the morning."

"You said it was something you had to do. That makes it sound like it's personal."

"Maybe it is."

Sam put his feet on the dash and Dean swatted at them until Sam took them down. "So, why is it personal, Dean?"

For five minutes, he didn't say anything and five minute could be a long time when you're driving in absolute silence, because your asshole brother turned off the radio so you could talk. Eventually, Dean found the words.

"There's this bar in Rachael, has a fence along back of it hiding this gravel road that no one uses except the old hermit that lives at the end. Apparently, there have been some boy's going missing and turning up dead a few miles out of town."

"And?"

"And same thing happened maybe ten years ago over a two year stretch and twelve bodies. Some sicko was kidnapping boys ranging from thirteen to eighteen, raping them, strangling them, and then dumping them a few miles away from the bar."

"How do you know the bar has anything to do with it. He could be picking them up somewhere else, or..." Dean didn't say anything and comprehension dawned on Sam's face. "Dean..."

Dean gave him a side long glance, "Dude, rules, no chick-flick moments."

"Unless it's the middle of the night and no one's watching?"

"Damn straight."

A reluctant smile spread on Sam's face as he nodded, dropping it, he even turned the radio back on. Dean concentrated on the road and tried not to think about how doing this job alone hadn't felt right, how every mile of the road had made him tenser and tighter and how, strangely, just having Sam in the next seat over, made everything okay.

*

*

*

Dean was asleep when they finally rolled into town. Sam got a room at a motel as far away from the bar as he could possibly manage. Dean wanted to be thankful for that, but in truth, he couldn't be, because it put him smack dab between the bar and the dumping ground and that just gave him the creepy crawlies. If Sam hadn't distracted that fucker all those years back, he would have passed this very motel on his way to be murdered.

Sleep wasn't forthcoming and it was another two hours till sundown, so Dean went over the plan again, like it mattered. "We go to the grave, we dig up the body, we salt it, we burn it. If he shows up, you shoot him."

"Isn't he... oh, right, rock salt "

Dean ruffled Sam's hair, "That's right, genius. Sometimes I wonder how you managed to get such good grades."

"Shut up, _Deano_, I've been out of the game for awhile."

"Well, let's hope you're a fast learner, because you're about to get a crash course."

*

*

*

Spirits were tricky things. Sam hadn't really put a lot of thought into what fighting this particular one would be like, but Dean had. He didn't even flinch when the thing started talking to him, whispering things on the air that Sam had long forgotten. Suddenly he was back inside the Impala, in the back seat, curled up with his hands over his ears.

"_Do you like having my cock up your ass, whore? Do you like the way it feels? Beg me. Beg me to stop."_

Sam almost lost his grip on the gun. If Dean hadn't yelled, "Sammy!" at that moment, he might have, but he managed to get it up and fire. The ghost vaporized, but Sam knew it was only temporary, so he watched and waited for it to return while Dean frantically poured oil over the corpse.

It materialized right in front of him. Sam didn't have time to even acknowledge it before he was thrown back against a tree, his head knocking against the trunk so hard he saw stars. It took him three tries to get up on his hands and knees and he was afraid to look when he did, afraid that the thing had gotten Dean, but instead, he saw a burning fire in the whole and Dean, standing over it, his hands in his pockets, his face set in stone.

"You okay over there?"

Dean looked back and gave Sam a wink, "Never better, little brother."

Sam almost believed it.

*

*

*

Dean made some calls and said the next stop was Idaho. He said there was some suspicious activity and Dean wanted to check it out to find out if it was related to the demon. Sam couldn't argue, because he didn't have any better ideas. Driving in the car with Dean was just like old times and Sam was surprised to learn that didn't bother him as much as he would have thought.

Some things did bother him, though. The first time Dean insisted that they stop at a bar, because they 'needed cash,' Sam had stared, open mouth until Dean finally noticed and quelled his fear. "Ah, Sammy, come on, pull your freaky little mind out of the gutter. I'm twenty-six, I only hustle pool now."

And he did. An hour later they were off with a hundred and fifty in cash and he hadn't let Dean out of his sights once, so he knew it was legit. Or, well, as legit as hustling got, anyway. Watching Dean do it, Sam started to wonder if perhaps it really had been his own mind that was in the gutter all along. Then Dean started flirting with one of the waitresses, who casually slipped him her number and Sam knew for a fact that it wasn't his mind that was in question.

It boggled him, because he knew Dean wasn't going to call that girl. He never called them. He flirted and he collected phone numbers like they were trophies, but he was rarely ever serious about it, except maybe once a year and Sam always got the impression that was more to prove a point than anything else. Though, what that point was, Sam could never understand.

They'd just crossed the state line, when Sam's arm started to itch. He'd been scratching at it idly for a perhaps a day or so, a nervous habit of his that he'd never been able to break, when it suddenly occurred to him that it actually itched this time. It had never itched before, not even when it was healing and before he'd realized what he was doing, he'd said, "My arm itches," like Dean was supposed to know what that meant, like he knew what that meant.

Dean looked over and his gaze settled on Sam's arm. "Itches?"

"Yeah."

After a second, Dean pulled the car over and made Sam push up the sleeve of his jacket and his shirt, and his undershirt and he cursed at Sam for wearing so many fucking layers when it was 80 plus degrees out. Dean checked the scars, running his hands over them when his eyes couldn't find anything wrong. No one but Jess had seen them since Bobby's doctor friend had covered them up, not even Dean, and it felt strange.

They were large, covering the width of his arm. Although they'd faded some over the years, though they still looked nasty enough. They were easy to mistake as some kind of animal bite, unless you knew what animal bites looked like. Thankfully, Jess hadn't. He bit back a shudder as Dean's fingers ran over them, first one, then the other, then the next, until it touched the last one, just under the crook of his elbow and Sam's head was swimming.

"_Not nearly so innocent."_

"_Dirty little boy, we saw what you did."_

"_We smelled it."_

Sam couldn't manage to jerk his arm away, couldn't make himself move. Parts of him were stirring that had no business stirring when it was his brother that was touching him and that was what finally spurred him into action. "You at least gonna buy me dinner first?"

Dean stopped and looked up with that dear-caught-in-the-headlights kind of look that was so rare. "What?"

Sam gave Dean a wink and flashed him his dimples, just for effect. Dean looked kind of cute when he was vulnerable and that wasn't a word that often described his brother. "Well, if you're going to feel me up, I think I should at least get a date out of it."

Before he could dodge, he felt a fist slam into his shoulder and Sam laughed, sitting back in his seat while they pulled back onto the road. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, pleased enough to forget his arm. It wasn't often that he got one up on hard-ass, non-emotional Dean.

He could have fed off the high for weeks, or at least, that was what he had thought until he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating bullets from another nightmare. His arm wasn't just itching anymore, it was on fire. He suppressed a groan and stumbled into the bathroom, flicking on the light and looking down at his arm. It was angry red where he'd been scratching it in his sleep, but under that what he saw made him feel cold and shaky.

The first bite, the one over his wrist, was puffy and raw in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with him and the points of entry, all twenty of them, were oozing with pinpoints of dark blood. Sam didn't know much about vampire bites, there hadn't been a whole lot of people who were bitten and got away and fewer still who were willing to talk about it, but he didn't have to do a lot of research to know what this was bad. This was real fucking bad.

*

*

*

Dean stared at the scars. "Shit."

"That was pretty much my reaction. What do you think it means?"

Dean touched one of the puncture marks, wiping away the drop of blood that had welled up and Sam fought the urge to moan and, barring that, fought the urge to jump away and put as much distance between him and his brother as the motel room would allow. That was unexpected. The scars had always been sensitive, but he'd assumed that was more to do with the memories attached to them - getting bitten was a pretty intimate experience, you felt it in every part your body and it didn't feel entirely bad, either. Now, though, it was like Dean was sending electric shocks of pleasure straight to Sam's groin and all he'd done was brush against it.

"Sammy, are you okay?"

On instinct, he managed, "It's Sam," but it came out cracked and kind of breathy. "I feel hot."

Dean touched his arm again, but Sam's body felt ice cold and he shivered at the contact, leaning towards it just slightly. He watched him carefully for several seconds, trying to decide what he should do. Sam's cheeks were flushed, his eyes were glassy, and he was breathing heavy, like he was running a fever, but he felt like a corpse. Reaching for his phone, he dialed the first number that came to mind.

Sam snapped out of whatever haze he'd been in. "What are you doing?"

"Making some calls. Go wash that off and put some antibiotics on it or something, the last thing we need is for it to get infected on top of everything else." Everything else being a ten year old vampire bite wound that had mysteriously re-opened.

He tried Bobby first, since he always had an ear to the ground, but he'd said he didn't know anything, so Dean went to Caleb, who knew less than that, because all he'd had to say was he thought vampires were extinct. Pastor Jim turned out to be nothing short of useless either, although he did offer to check the wound for curses. Finally, he gave up and called Ellen, who told him to call Gordon and why the hell hadn't he thought of that in the first place? Sure, the man wasn't the chatty sort, but vampires were his specialty.

"Gordon, I've got a problem of the undead sort and I could use a little advice."

"Who's this again?"

Trust Gordon with a lot of things, but voice recognition just wasn't one of them. "Dean Winchester."

"Right, Winchester, what do you need?"

He considered his answer carefully, because Gordon had a thing for killing vampires and anything associated with them and he didn't want Sam on Gordon's radar. "Let's say, hypothetically speaking, that someone had a vampire bite that's, oh, maybe ten years old and it suddenly started acting... funny."

"Is it bleeding?"

Sammy was lying on the bed. He'd put a thin bandage around his arm but Dean could see the dark stains of blood underneath. "Oh, yeah."

"Then you don't have the time it'll take me to explain everything. Get in your car and start driving."

"What..."

"Now. Where are you?"

"Nevada-Idaho state line, near Filer, I think." He pulled Sam to his feet and was relieved when his brother pulled away and gave him a look that said he could do it himself. Well, that was good, because Sam wasn't little anymore and Dean sure as hell couldn't drag his ass to the car one handed. "Come on, Sammy, we've got to drive."

"Dean, who's been bitten? Is it Sam?"

"No, some guy we're trying to help." He tossed his duffle bag in the back and opened the trunk, pulling out his gun and shoving it in the waist band of his jeans before pulling out the machete and tossing it on the seat besides him as he got in. "Okay, we're driving."

He put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the seat next to him while he tried to decide which way to go. Back to Ellen's seemed like a good idea right now, so he turned right onto 84. "Talk to me, Gordon, what am I doing?"

"That's not a scar, that's a mark. Whoever bit your friend wanted to keep him. They've sensed he's close and they're using the mark to track him."

Sam let out a moan and his head fell back on the seat, his eyes rolling into his head. Dean reached over to feel his head again, but Sammy leaned into his touch, trying to press his lips to Dean's arm, panting against his skin.

"Sammy! Sammy, talk to me!" Sam's lips found Dean's arm and pressed against it, not kissing, but close enough that Dean jerked back.

"What's happening?"

"I think it's getting worse."

"Go the other direction." The urgency in Gordon's voice was not a good sign, it was a fucking bad one.

"What?"

"It acts like radar, Dean. The closer you get, the more their call is affecting him."

Dean nodded, even though he knew Gordon couldn't see him and jerked the wheel, spinning the car in the road to face the other way. Oregon was lovely this time of year, anyway. Except that when he turned the car, he found himself driving towards someone who was standing in the middle of the road and instinct kicked in before he could even think about it. He slammed on the brakes and everything in the car flew forward, including himself.

He had just enough time to reflect that the person in front of his car was a little too pale and stopping probably hadn't been the best idea, before his head connected with the steering wheel and then he wasn't thinking much of anything, because he was unconscious.

*

*

*

Dean's first thoughts were of Sam and before he'd even opened his eyes, he was slurring his brother's name, "Sammy?" He didn't know why he was worried about Sam, or what had happened, but he knew something... and then he remembered.

With a groan, he pushed himself up and pressed a hand to the throbbing pain in his forehead. "Sammy?"

From somewhere off to the left, he heard, "How many times do I have to tell you, it's Sam."

Dean just managed not to sigh relief and he forced his eyes open, turning his head in the direction of the voice, even though he couldn't see through the dark. Sam's voice sounded about the same as he felt, sluggish and not just a little pained. "Are you still feeling weird... or, well, weirder than usual."

Sam gave a half laugh that turned into a grimace that Dean could see now, because his eyes were adjusting. "Oh, god, don't make me laugh."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm better."

They sat silently for a while and Dean tried to think of something to say, but nothing was forth coming. Finally, he got fed up with looking for words and decided to look for a way out. They were locked in a dark room in separate cages that were a good five feet apart. If they both _really _reached, they _might_ have been able to touch fingers _if_ they were lucky, so working together wasn't an option.

While he searched around the floor, hoping to find something that would work as a lock pick, or a weapon, Sam tried to kick his door open. "So, Dean, you want to tell me what," kick, "Gordon said."

"He said if you don't stop making that fucking racket, they'll come down and check on us."

Kick. "No, they won't come down until they're good and ready."

Dean didn't need to ask how Sam knew, "Apparently, that's a mark. You must have made one hell of an impression on these bloodsuckers."

"Mark?" And now Sam had that haunted quality to his voice that said he was remembering something he didn't want to, but Dean ignored it, because Sam would have denied it. Just like Dean had done on so many occasions when it had been him spacing out.

"Yeah, it's the difference between 'you're a tasty snack' and 'let's hang out for a while.'" Sam stopped kicking door and Dean saw him looking down at his covered arm, "Is it acting up?"

"No."

Nothing inside the cage, nothing within reach outside the cage. Dean laid down on the floor and braced his hands on the bar, kicked the door, but, like Sam's, it just made a lot of noise. Finally giving up, he sat back up and leaned against the bars, looked at Sam in concern, "Hey, Sam." His brother looked at him, his face unreadable, "The thing that bit you is dead. That guy, Joe beheaded him and I watched him do it."

Sam tried for a smile and even in the dim light, Dean could tell it was weak. "I know he is, but he wasn't the only one, Dean."

They'd never talked about what happened with Sam, because every time someone had, Sam had gone all glassy-eyed, but Dean was starting to think maybe that was a mistake. Yeah, right, because he'd been Mr. Share-and-Care with his own dark past.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Remember when we had, you know, the talk."

"Dean, I think we've got enough to worry about without bringing up embarrassing moments in my childhood."

"Hey, you're not the only one that was embarrassed." Because he'd had to own up to fucking Sam's childhood up beyond all repair while he tried to explain that paying for sex wasn't normal, that sex was supposed to be between two people who trusted and cared about each other, and it was supposed to be special and in a bed, not bent over a car or pressed against the side of a building and it wasn't supposed to hurt and could Sam please stop asking all these questions?

Sam laughed and then groaned again, but with less force. "Okay, fine, so what about it?"

"You asked me about the first time and..."

"Dean..."

"Shut up, Sammy, because I'm going to ask you some stuff after this and I expect answers. So, you asked me and I said it didn't matter, right? The drive home, first stop where they wouldn't let me in. Some guy offered to pay me to blow him and I did it." Sam didn't say anything to that and Dean was glad, because he didn't know how he would have handled whatever it was Sam was thinking. "So, now you… did they... you know?"

Sam didn't respond to that right away either and it was a good thing they were in separate cages, because Dean was feeling the need to hit something. "No, but it was... the biting thing was pretty intense, like you want it to stop and then when it does you can't decide if that's good or not."

"How many of them bit you?"

"Just the two. The leader's name was Randall, he was the first. After that they made me stay downstairs and the one you killed, Mikey, he kept sucking at it and that's no walk in the park, either. I thought they'd put me back in the cages when they went to bed, but... and he kept waking up and since the bite had healed over, he bit me again and then again and... by the time you got there I think I was in shock, I don't even remember anything until I woke up in the truck with Bobby taking us to Pastor Jim."

Footsteps sounded above them and they looked up, tracking them until they stopped nowhere near the door.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"While we're talking about embarrassing subjects that are better left alone, how about you tell me about your sex life?"

"What about my sex life?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, perhaps I should have said your _lack_ of sex life."

Dean really wished he had something to throw. "How about you shut your cake hole?"

Before Sam could react, the door opened and light flooded the room. It wasn't much light, but Dean still had to squint for a minute to get his bearings. The room was windowless, but he'd already known that, there were two other cages against the wall opposite theirs, but no one was in them, and a set of stairs led up to the door, where a female vampire was looking lazily down at them, her thumbs hooked on her jean skirt. So , they were in a basement. That was real fucking original.

He smiled at the woman, that half cocked, charming smile he could always manage, no matter how ashamed he was, or how tense the situation. "You look lonely up there, sweetheart."

She wondered down the steps slowly, "Oh, the little hunter wants to play."

"Why don't you let me out of here and we'll see how I play."

She crouched down in front of his cage, her fingers wrapping around the bars and before Dean could stop himself, he's noted that those were some long fingernails and she was wearing white underwear. "Pretty little hunter, you killed my sister."

"Looks like the bitch gene runs in the family, then."

"I'll make you regret that." Only she wasn't going for the lock to his cage, she was just leering at him and quite frankly, he would have preferred her to go all teeth on him about now, because that he could handle, but he hated the fucking mind games. Then she moved, not to let him out, though, she moved to Sam's cage and Dean saw Sam backing up as far away as he could, grinding his back against the bar. "You... Randall says you're practically family."

"Like hell I am."

"Cissy." A voice boomed from the tops of the steps, reprimanding and amused at the same time. "It isn't nice to play with your food."

"But, Randall..." The smile on her face said that wasn't what she thought, but then Dean knew that wasn't what Randall thought, either, because vampires were sick sons of bitches and if there was anything they loved more than feeding off people, it was playing with the victim.

He came down the steps, his heavy boots thunking against the old wood and stood in front of Sam's cage. Dean gripped the bars, helpless to do anything but watch as the leader sized up his brother. Sam's hand moved over the covered marks on his arm suddenly and he hissed.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" Dean rattled the cage in his effort to tear the bars out. Cissy spared him a glance, but Randall didn't even acknowledge him.

"Sammy, we missed you."

"Too bad."

Randall laughed and Dean had to admit that was about the creepiest thing he'd ever heard. "As mouthy as ever, I see. I wonder, have you used that mouth to tell your brother how we found you?"

"Shut up." Sam's voice was deadpan, no emotion and Dean knew that was bad. Sam had never been good at hiding what he felt, it was why he preferred to run when people asked him questions he couldn't answer, or didn't want to.

"Sammy..."

But they were still ignoring him and the girl was rubbing herself against the bars in a way that reminded Dean of all those strip clubs Caleb had dragged him into that he'd never wanted to go to in the first place. She moaned and licked her lips at Sam. "So dirty."

"Stop it."

Randall just grinned. "Stop what, Sammy, you can't hide the truth forever." Now the man's attention turned to Dean, but Dean wasn't scared, he was fucking pissed. "Do you know what innocence tastes like? It's sweet, like candy with too much sugar and you know how sugar is bad for your teeth."

Sam was panting a little and his eyes were glassy, but he had enough presence of mind to say, "Please?"

Cissy put a finger to her lips, "Sh, now, Sammy, the grown ups are talking."

"Sammy didn't taste all that sweet, Dean, and do you know why?" Dean pulled his eyes away from Sam to look at Randall, because watching his brother like that was making it difficult for him to breathe. "Because he wasn't all that innocent. He was touching himself, Dean, like the dirty boy that he was."

Dean scoffed, "Oh, give me a break, masturbating is hardly a sin or we'd all be going to hell."

Randall moved to the back of the cage and reached through the bars, running his fingers through Sam's hair in mock affection. "Some sooner than others, but no, masturbating isn't a sin, but thinking about your brother while doing it, is."

And didn't that just shut Dean the hell up.

"He was listening to you getting fucked and he was touching himself to the sound of it, because he wanted to be in that man's place, Dean. He wanted to be the one doing those dirty things to you. Filthy little boy."

Dean tore his eyes away from Randall and looked at his brother, whose eyes were closed and his face read shame and there were tears going down his cheeks and was it so entirely fucked up that Dean wasn't so much disgusting by the revelation as surprised? It made sense, didn't it? Knowing that made a lot of things make a whole hell of a lot more sense - like when Dean had been turning a trick and the way Sammy acted was closer to jealous than angry; like when they were sleeping in the car and Sammy kept trying to find excuses for them to sleep together; like when he'd caught Dean and Jo together and he'd been so mad; like why Sammy had stopped wanting to sleep with Dean when he'd found out that sex was about more than money.

Randall took his hand away from Sam and finally went to Dean's cage, looking down at him with contempt. "You killed one of my children and I had thought to extract my revenge by killing something close to you, but now I think I'll keep your brother and just kill you instead."

"Then get it over with." Just open the fucking door and give him half a chance, because that was all he was going to need, he'd rip the monster's head off with his bare hands.

The smile was back and Randall motioned to Cissy to follow him to the stairs. "Not yet, some of the pack is out looking for food and they should be here for this. Enjoy your time together."

He shut the door behind him, taking the light and Dean sat down, trying to form a coherent thought in his head that wasn't 'fuck,' because that was as far as he got when he tried to fathom what he'd just heard, but since he couldn't get past that word, since that was the only thing that ran through his mind, over and over, he decided to voice it, because what else could he do?

"Fuck."

*

*

*

They hadn't been there very long, but that was what the logical part of Dean's brain said, the rest was scrambling to get a grip on how hard it was to just sit in the dark and not talk for what felt like fucking days.

"Sam."

Silence.

"Sam, you've got to talk to me or I'm going to go insane over here."

Silence.

"Sammy..."

"What do you want me to say? That he was right? That I was jacking off the woods thinking about having sex with you? That I've had dreams about it ever since? That every time you touch me it makes me fucking _hard_? What am I supposed say, Dean? You tell me, because I think he pretty much covered it."

"I was thinking more along the lines of you telling me stories about Stanford, but if you want to go all Oprah on me, then by all means."

Softly, Sam chuckled, but there wasn't any humor in it. "That's right, Dean, pretend you don't know, because you're so good at that."

Okay, now that was uncalled for. True, but entirely uncalled for. "There are things that are better left alone, Sam. You know that just as well as I do."

"Maybe, but at least I don't pretend to be okay."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"When we moved in with Ellen, you kept trying to act like you were okay, but you weren't and it was fucking obvious to everyone _but_ you and if they so much as tried to call you on it, you made off like that was just how you were and it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd whored yourself out on roadsides for a year and a half. But you're not okay and you haven't been since Dad disappeared. All those stupid flings with girls that didn't mean anything to you and for what, Dean, because you never fooled anyone except yourself. At least I had the balls to admit I wasn't okay, at least I didn't try to cover up that there was something wrong, and at least I didn't throw people's concern back on their face with sarcastic bullshit."

"No, you just hid behind me so I could do all your dirty work for you. I had to be tough enough for both of us."

"No, you didn't, Dean, you were fifteen." And that was what all this was about, wasn't it?

"I fucked up, Sam, I fucked up bad. I made wrong decision after wrong decision and no amount of apologizing is going to give you back what you should have had, but I was doing what I thought was right. I was trying to take care of our family."

"Ellen and Jo and Ash, that's our family now, has been for eight years, but you still hold them at arm's length."

"God damnit, Sammy!" What was this, pick-on-Dean's-emotional-deficiencies day? And how the hell had Sam turned this around on him? Dean wasn't the one having sexual thoughts about his own brother. "You want to do this? Fine. You left. You graduated high school and you moved to fucking California to get the hell away from me and everyone else. I may hold people at arm's length, but at least I don't run away from them."

"I went to college for you!" Dean's mouth was already half open to reply, but his voice stuck in his throat. "I watched you work so fucking hard for almost nothing, Dean, and I was good at school like you never were and I thought that was something I could do to take care of you like you'd taken care of me and if you wanted to hunt, you could do that too, but at least you wouldn't have to sell yourself in bars to fund the effort. I mean, not to say I didn't want to go, because damnit, I did, but I was doing it as much for you as for myself. I fucking love you, Dean, in every way I shouldn't."

Dean couldn't think of anything to say to that. It didn't feel... real. "What... what about Jess?"

"I loved Jess, too." Sam's voice cracked, but then he swallowed thickly and it was under control again. "You didn't even come to see me at Stanford, you left before you could see me off and I knew what I was feeling was wrong. Even if it wasn't, you were so scarred I didn't imagine for a minute that you could ever return my feelings and Jess was... god, she was wonderful, Dean, you would have really liked her. She was pretty and she was nice and she supported me in everything, even when I wouldn't tell her about my past, or my family, she just let it be with a smile and a kiss. I miss her so much. I'm lost without her, because now I really am alone."

Finally, finally, Dean found his voice. "You're not alone."

"Right, I have you, Mr. Tough Guy, and what are you going to do to make it better?"

There was movement upstairs again and they both tensed up. This was it and Dean knew that while he'd go down fighting, he'd go down, because as good as he was, he wasn't good enough to take on an entire den of vampires. Then the movements got louder and became more like crashes and thuds and those were the sounds of fighting!

Ten minutes later the door to the cellar was kicked open and Dean laughed before he could help himself, gut wrenching laughter, because it was Gordon coming down the stairs, followed by Caleb and Jeffrey and Kay. Caleb and Gordon split up the task of setting them free and Dean was glad Gordon took his cage, because if it had been Caleb that opened that door, Dean would have been tempted to hug him and what would that have done to his reputation?

"Not to say I'm not grateful, but how the hell?"

Kay held her phone up to her ear, "Ellen! Yeah, we've got the boys. Nah, they're fine, Sam was running a fever and Dean over reacted. Uh huh, he just got caught up watching porn while Sam slept it off. You know, Dean, so thoughtless sometimes." Dean mouthed obscenities at her, but he didn't say them out loud, because Ellen would take 'I forgot' better than 'I was busy getting myself killed.' "Of course, you have my word. Beat his sorry ass black and blue, I promise."

She hung it up and winked at Dean. "You owe me, kiddo."

Gordon shook his head. "You know, you need to stop worrying that woman, every time you get in a scrape, she calls out the damn armada."

Sam gave him a look that Dean tactfully ignored. "I'll give her a call. You guys mind giving me and Sam a minute alone?"

They headed up the stairs, Caleb pausing long enough to try and ruffle Dean's hair, but Dean dodged it, because, really, he was filthy enough without adding 'messed up hair' to the list.

When they were alone, Dean took a deep breath and looked at Sam, who was huddled in on himself in that way that said he was ashamed. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry about what I said..."

"You were right." Sam looked up in shock and Dean caught his eye and held it. "You were right, I hide things and I know I'm not fooling anyone, but it's the only thing I know how to do."

He stepped forward, so that he was standing in front of Sam, looking up at him and why the hell did Sam have to go and get that tall? Sam shifted, like he wanted to back up, but couldn't.

Dean continued to hold his eye. "So don't expect me to go changing. And don't expect me to bottom, either. I'm strictly a top man and if you can't deal with that..."

Before he could finish, Sam was kissing him. Not soft or hesitant, but hard and fierce, pressing him back against the cage, that rattled loudly and echoed through the basement and Dean would have thought this would feel suffocating. He'd never been able to handle being under anyone, not even in kissing, but this was Sam and he found that he couldn't even begin to tense under that mouth and that familiar body and, oh my god, how big were the muscles under all those shirts?!

Sam pulled away and he was flushed and his mouth was set in a crooked smile and Dean forced himself to frown, because smiling wasn't his style. "Still not letting you top."

The smile got wider and Dean shoved Sam to the stairs. "Go on, I've got a phone call to make and a lecture to sit through. God, Ellen is going to rip me a new one. Why the hell did Kay have to say it was porn?"

Sam stopped him and, despite his smile, there was a seriousness to it that made Dean listen. "We'll take it slow."

There was more to that then just Dean, there was Sam's own hesitation, this was strange, new territory and his long-term girlfriend had died less than a month ago and he wasn't ready to jump into bed with someone just yet, either. So, they'd take it slow, they'd learn their boundaries by degrees and maybe eventually there wouldn't be any boundaries left. Until then...

"Dude, rules."

"No chick flick moments?"

"Unless it's the middle of the night and no one's watching."


	4. Part Four: Full Circle

Title: Full Circle  
Series: All We Have  
Pairing: Dean/Sam  
Rating: R (hard)  
Warning: Wincest  
Summary: It's been ten years since John Winchester disappeared without a word and no one has heard from him since. Until now.  
Author's Note: It's my birthday on Sunday! Is it wrong that I'm excited, even though I will officially be in my late twenties?

* * *

**Full Circle**

Rules. They were very few of them in Dean's life, because for the most part he didn't believe in them. Driver got to pick the music, he didn't bottom, and no sex stuff until it was dark, they were in a motel room, and no one was there to watch. Okay, the last one had been revised as of late, because he figured in his car at four in the afternoon was okay as long as they'd covered the no one watching part.

The other two were intractable, though, which was why it was Dean grinding Sam into the seat and not the other way around and why it was Metallica playing in the background.

Sam moaned, spreading his legs a little wider to accommodate Dean's hips. "Seriously, dude, this music is a buzz kill."

In response, Dean pressed down harder, rubbing his jean clad erection against Sam's and kissing him, using his tongue to shut his little brother up. This was Sammy, his baby brother, practically writhing in the seat under him and wasn't that just the sickest, most erotic image he'd conjured up that day?

Sam's grip on Dean's shoulders slipped and wrapped around his back, clutching his t-shirt as he moaned, "Oh, god." And didn't being called God just do wonders for his ego. "Dean..." And didn't Sam sound so perfect when he was all urgent and pleading.

"Oh, fuck, Dean," Suddenly, Sam didn't sound so much urgent as pleading and not in a sexy way either. His hands were clenching Dean's shirt so tight it was about to rip, his head pressed too tightly into Dean's shoulder. A vision. Just fucking great! So, Sam whines and begs and fucking pouts about how horny he is and how they haven't had sex for days because they've been at the Roadhouse, until Dean finally pulls over so they can both get off, because watching Sam rub himself had made Dean so hard it hurt, and now the little freak had to go and have a fucking vision.

There were very few things that could kill Sam's hard on and make it stay gone, but a vision was one of them. Dean sat up, pulling Sam with him and returned the hold, letting Sam ride out whatever it was he was seeing. It would have death in it, because it always did. How was it that Sam could dig up a rotting corpse and want to fuck like rabbits five minutes later, but one little vision and he was dry for a week? Of course, Sam would have countered with how was it that Dean could go eight years on sex once a year and suddenly a week without getting into Sam's pants was too long?

"Sam, talk to me. Come on, Sammy, what did you see?"

Please, oh, please, don't let it be three states over this time. Sam pulled away and he was staring at Dean with unfocused eyes like he was afraid to tell him, but Dean wasn't exactly the most patient man when he was interrupted this close to getting off. He tapped Sam's face just hard enough to draw his attention, but light enough so that it didn't hurt and, bingo, those bright green eyes were focused on him again.

"Dad." Dean drew his brows together, unable to make heads or tails of that comment. Even with the stubble and the tight clothes he didn't look anything like Dad. Wished he did, tried hard to, but he just didn't. "Dean, it was Dad. I saw Dad."

In true Dean fashion, he sat back, trying to make his face as neutral as possible and, failing that, decided to settle on cursing. "Fuck that."

*

*

*

They'd been almost three hours out on their way to Arizona when the vision had hit and that put them nine hours away from Iowa, which was where Sam said they needed to be. Dean made it there in seven and a half. He stopped just inside the border and got a room, because they wanted to be rested when they pulled into Salvation in the morning.

"Ellen, it's Dean. Look, when you get this, call me back. Sam had a vision about Dad and we're in Iowa."

They'd had to tell Ellen about the visions a few months back when Sam had one in front of her. Dean had tried saying nothing was the matter, but she'd said she didn't believe him and she'd sick Caleb on his ass if he didn't start being honest with her.

Hanging up, Dean looked at his cell for a few minutes, making sure she wasn't going to call back. It was midnight, which was the way he'd planned it, hoping she'd be too busy to notice her cell ringing in the back. He didn't want to talk to her right now. He needed a few more hours to get his head together before she started flinging questions at him.

Dad was alive. Dad was in Iowa. Okay, to be fair, something that looked like Dad was in Iowa, stalking some girl that Sam didn't recognize.

Until now, Dean had thought the vision thing was kind of cool - freaky and it put him off of sex for a while and he would never, ever admit it to Sam, but still cool, because every vision put them one step closer to the demon. Besides, he'd take following Sam's visions to checking up on Sam's old college buddies any day. He shuddered a little as he remembered the shapeshifter. There were just some things a person did not need to walk in on, and yourself dry humping your brother into the ground while you were chocked him was one of them. He'd shot the thing six times and that hadn't been enough. Of course, there were also drawbacks to shooting yourself and one of them was having to call Ellen and tell her that she was probably going to get notice soon that you were dead, but not to worry.

He shrugged off the memory. While he'd rather rehash all the mistakes he'd ever made in his entire life than think about the current situation, he really needed to think this through.

Sam sat on the motel bed, glaring at the dark television. "He's got to be possessed, Dean. That's the only explanation."

Dean wanted to believe that, but there were facts to consider. "Demons don't usually possess people for that long. A year or two, okay, but ten? It would have moved on by now."

There really wasn't anything to say about that and Dean threw himself on his back on the bed next to Sam and stared at the ceiling. What possible excuse could there be for leaving them for ten years? Sure, okay, he got the possession part and he couldn't bring himself to believe there was any other explanation for Dad's disappearance, but then what had happened? There had to be something, because... because...

"Dean, it's okay." Sam was looking at him with a sympathetic gaze and Dean realized that his eyes were watering. Shit. Way to be the man in the relationship, Dean, why don't you just roll over and take it up ass while you're at it.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"Really?"

Dean gave him the look, the one that said 'drop it' and Sam slid down to lay on the bed next to his brother. They'd made progress in the months they'd been on the road together. Not with Dean sharing his feelings, but just with being okay, which was a big step for both of them. Now this... this threatened to undo everything and Sam couldn't let that happen.

Rolling over, he kissed Dean's neck, just bellow his ear and deflected the swat that Dean aimed at his head. "Stop it." He licked the same spot and bit it. Dean tensed as he tried not to make any noise. He slid his hand up Dean's t-shirt, wondering why the man had to go and wear such tight clothing all the time? Not that Sam was complaining, especially since more often than not, Sam was walking behind Dean and in those jeans, at least he had something to look at.

His searching fingers found Dean's nipple and he heard the annoyed grunts that indicated Dean was uncomfortable with this. Well, good, let him be, because Sam was about to change his mind about this, just like he'd changed his mind about necking. Sam had been at Stanford for two years and in the first few months, before he'd met Jess, he'd done a hell of a lot of experimenting and not just with girls.

"Sam, stop it, I'm not a fucking girl." Sam twisted the nipple, biting Dean's neck at the same time and Dean jumped, "Shit, Sam, that fucking hurt." He was using fuck in excess, which meant he was fumbling for words, which meant he didn't exactly hate this as much as he was pretending.

Sam moved his leg over Dean's to hold him in place and dug his erection into Dean's hip. It wasn't a secure hold, if Dean wanted to move, he could, but it was just tight enough to let Dean know that Sam would prefer he didn't.

Lifting Dean's shirt, Sam transferred his mouth from Dean's neck to his abdomen, kissing upwards until he was eye level with one of those tight, dark nipples. He liked men's nipples, they were small and hard against flat chests and he especially loved Dean's nipples, because Dean's chest was all muscle.

He ran tongue over the nub, flicking at it and Dean squirmed under him. "Sam, if you want to play with someone's nipples, get yourself a chick."

In retaliation Sam bit down softly, rolling the hardened nub between his teeth and the sound that Dean made in the back of his throat said that he very clearly approved of that. He bit a little harder, until the noise was just that side of pain, then he let it go and licked it again.

"Oh, fuck, point made." Sam chuckled deeply as Dean flipped him onto his back and covered him, pinning him to the bed with his hips. "What did I say about bottoming?"

Sam jerked his hips up again Dean and licked his lower lip suggestively. "You know for someone who says he doesn't like to talk during sex, you sure seem to find it hard to shut your mouth."

Dean's stomach twisted, but not in any way that was bad, which was one of those new sensations he'd learned about with Sam. He'd always thought talking in bed was overrated, even with the girl's he'd had sex with it was an annoyance he could have lived without, but with Sam it was different. Everything was different with Sam.

*

*

*

Dean had only been asleep for three hours when he woke to the wordless tune of Tainted Love. Lifting his head off the pillow, he stared at the bedside table. Softcell? "That bitch."

"Hm?" Sam blinked awake and stretched while Dean flipped open his phone.

Dean cleared his throat, "Dean."

"I got your message." Oh, fuck, it was Ellen. At least she hadn't called while they were having sex. "What do you mean Sam had a vision about your father?"

He flopped back on the bed and ran a hand over his face. It was too early for this shit, or possibly too late, depending on how you looked at it. "Like I said. Sam had a vision of Dad in Iowa."

"Doing what?"

_Sitting in his truck, watching a woman cradle a sixth month old baby through the window of a two story house._

"Buying groceries. What does it matter? Dad's in Iowa and now we're here too."

The pause that followed didn't bode well for Dean. It meant she was pissed that he wasn't telling her everything, but fuck it. This wasn't about her and it wasn't any of her damned business and she knew it. "It could be a trap, Dean."

"I know that, Ellen, I do, but..." it's Dad.

"You boys be careful."

"Always are. Oh, and tell Jo she is one dead chick when I get back."

"What did she do this time?"

"My phone's ringing Softcell. I'm going to have Tainted Love stuck in my head all day thanks to her."

Ellen chuckled, "That's my girl. Get some sleep, honey."

He cringed at the endearment. She didn't use it often, but when she did, it made him feel guilty. It meant she was resigned to whatever it was he was doing, even if she didn't approve of it and she was going to worry the whole time they were gone. Dean did not like feeling guilty, especially where Ellen was concerned.

Sam took in his annoyed expression. "She's just worried about you." Dean hummed his disapproval and stood up, grabbing his pants off the floor. "Where are you going?"

He zipped up and pulled his shirt on. "Coffee. Go back to sleep, Sam."

Sam didn't say anything as Dean walked out, but Dean knew what he would have said and that was just as bad. 'Stop being such a tough-guy, Dean, just talk to me, tell me what's wrong. You'll feel better.' But this wasn't something that Dean could talk about with Sam, or anyone for that matter, this was personal, the deep, dark kind of personal that Sam didn't need to know about.

As much as he would have preferred a good, stiff drink, there weren't any bars open at four in the morning, so he settled with driving through the McDonald's across from the motel, buying a large cup of the sorry ass shit that passed for coffee, and drinking it in the empty parking lot.

If Dad was alive... if Dad was alive, then what? What if they found him and he hadn't been possessed or he wasn't possessed anymore? Just the thought made him so fucking angry. Those eighteen months had been the longest, hardest of his life. He'd gotten through it, because he was trying to do right by Sammy, he was trying to do what Dad would have wanted him to do. Only if Dad hadn't come back... then maybe he'd known what Dean had done; maybe he'd been disgusted or ashamed and that was a kind of fear that outweighed anything else Dean had ever experienced.

Death had nothing on the thought that his Dad hadn't loved him enough, cared about him enough to even call.

Getting out of the car, he sat on the hood and let the coffee burn his tongue. This wasn't going to be pretty no matter how it played out. If a demon was still possessing his father - and considering Sammy's visions so far had all had to do with the demon, he was of a mind to think this did too - then what were they going to do about it? Long term possession was hell on a person's body, the chances that someone his dad's age would survive an exorcism were slim. Would an exorcism even work on something like this?

"Dude, you must be doing some serious angsting." Dean looked back to see Sammy standing a few feet away, fully dressed in wrinkled clothes and giving that half smile that said he was trying to comfort Dean, but wasn't really sure how to go about it or if Dean would even let him. "You don't punish yourself with that crap unless you mean it."

Dean looked at the cup in his hand. Oh, yeah, Sam knew him far too well. "I thought I told you to go back to sleep."

Sam sat down next to him and took the cup, sipping it with a grimace before handing it back. "How can you drink that?"

"That's a man's drink, Sammy, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Mr. Caramel Macchiato?"

Sam pushed him and the coffee sloshed a little over the sides, stinging his hands a little.

"Come on, Dean," Sam looked out over the train tracks in front of them and the overgrown field beyond that. "It's the middle of the night, no one's watching."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Someone's always watching." Sam looked confused for a minute, until Dean motioned behind them and he turned to see the drive through attendant trying to pretend he wasn't staring. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Sam, but this isn't something I'm going to talk about."

After a minute, Sam nodded. "Okay, but don't think I'm not thinking the same thing, Dean, and it's really messed up, but there's nothing we can do about it until we get there."

"This coming from the original emo-boy?"

"Fuck you." But there was an almost grin that said he didn't mean it and Dean put a hand on the back of Sam's head, bringing him down for a kiss, in front of the attendant, the security camera and anyone who happened to be driving by at four in the morning.

"Go on back to the room."

Sam nodded and got up, walking away with a blush on his face that said he knew the pimply little shit behind the window had watching them the entire time. Dean found to his own personal annoyance that that thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.

*

*

*

Fucking Tainted Love! Dean was going to kill that girl! She'd erased every other music tone he'd downloaded. He was going to drag her ass out behind the house and drown her in the sobering trough with the dirty rain water that Ellen kept around for when Ash was truly wasted and it didn't help that Sam was sniggering at him while he scrambled for the phone.

He looked at the display, cursing. Caleb? Caleb only called him when he needed help on a hunt, which made no sense, because he'd broken his leg not two weeks ago and there wasn't a job he could do until he could walk again. He flipped it open, "Hey, Caleb, I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy."

"Hi, Dean."

The blood drained from his face and, his baby or not, he would have driven his car into a ditch if Sam hadn't grabbed the wheel. "Dean? Dean, what's wrong?"

His fingers were white around the phone and he could feel his lower jaw shaking. "Dad?"

The voice chuckled, that deep familiar rumble that Dean had locked away in his memory because thinking about it hurt too much. Hearing it now wasn't any better, especially when it was followed by a mocking. "Aw, did you miss me, son?"

Sam let go of the wheel as Dean stopped the car, parking them half off the road. He was staring at the phone with the same mix of disbelief and confusion that Dean felt and that wasn't good, because one of them had to think straight in this and Dean got a bad feeling it wasn't going to be Sam.

"What..." But he couldn't get past that, because the questions suddenly just weren't there.

"I've sure missed the two of you. How's Sammy? He there with you?" It wasn't his dad, it wasn't really his dad. He knew it wasn't. It was in the inflection of the words, the amusement in the voice, things that just weren't John Winchester, but that wasn't helping. "Of course he is."

"Who are you?" His mouth and his brain had finally connected, but the tremor he heard in his own voice said that his emotions had joined the party as well and that wasn't good.

"I think you know who I am."

"Demon."

"Call me Daddy."

Dean sucked in breath and smacked Sam's hand away as it reached for the phone. "Where's Caleb?"

"Hm, well, that depends. Was he a good boy, or was he bad?"

"What?"

The demon chuckled again. "Heaven or hell, Dean? Wait, that's right, you don't believe in that nonsense, do you? When you're dead, you're just dead. You were such a cynical child."

Caleb was dead. That's what it was saying and Dean couldn't even begin to process that hurt, because he'd had a lot of father figures over the last eight years, but Caleb had been the closest to the real thing. "I swear to god, I will kill you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try, son, but I have other plans. You and Sammy are going to keep driving until you reach Lincoln. There's a warehouse there, at the Waughbash and Lake. Be there by midnight tonight. Daddy and I'll be waiting for you."

He grit his teeth, "What if we don't show?"

"That would be a bad idea, Dean, because if you don't, I'll kill someone else. In fact, I think it's been far too long since I saw Bobby."

Bobby who'd been nothing but helpful, who'd driven ten hours at over a hundred in a rickety old truck that no one in their right mind would have thought could even go that fast, just because Dean had called and said he needed help. Bobby who'd spent a day at a time at the Roadhouse, helping Dean fix up the Impala, because it was the only thing Dean had left of his Dad. Bobby who hadn't told anyone how he'd found them, hadn't ever betrayed their trust in all these years.

Finally, he managed to choke out, "Leave Bobby out of this."

"Really, and who should it be in his place? Ellen? Little Jo? You've created quite the family for yourself."

Sam saw Dean's face go from pale to paler and that was fucking it. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"Tell Sammy Daddy says hi."

Dean's lip curled, "Fuck you."

"I'd say sure, but I think that job belongs to Sammy, doesn't it?" And his anger was replaced with a sickening plummet in his stomach. "What's wrong, Dean, cat got your tongue?"

Before he could work up a response, Sam grabbed the phone from him and Dean couldn't work up the motor functions to stop him.

"Who is this? Dad?"

Sam's face went as white as Dean's. A soft beep indicated that the connection had been cut off and Sam held the phone away from him, staring at the lit screen. "Dean, what was that?"

Dean shook his head, his mind whirling. He'd only ever seen one demonic possession and that had been enough for him. What had really stuck in his mind, though, was what the guy had said afterwards, how he had been so thankful, because he'd seen everything, he'd heard everything, he just hadn't been able to say or do anything about it and that was where Dad was. If the demon knew something, if it saw something, Dad saw it too and the demon knew that Sam and he were having sex.

He'd realized the implications of his affair with Sammy in the beginning. He'd known that they couldn't tell anyone, but that hadn't really bothered him much, because while Dean may have made a display of the girls he'd flirted and slept with over the past few years, that had all been show and this was real and he honestly didn't _want_ anyone to know. Even if he had wanted them to, though, it wouldn't have been possible. Sam was his brother, this was incest and that might not have meant a damned thing to Dean, who'd only ever found comfort with his brother, other people weren't going to see it that way.

Other people like his dad.

"Dean?"

The tremor in Sam's voice was what brought him out of it and made him move, made him think again. It was the tremor that said he was worried about Dean, that he thought his brother was hurt or something. Dean forced himself to move, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists around the steering wheel and clutch so that Sam couldn't see them shaking. "It's the demon, Sam, it wants us to go to Lincoln."

"Fuck that." A response that conclusively proved Sam was spending too much time with Dean.

"It killed Caleb and it threatened to go after Bobby next."

"Caleb's dead?"

Dean nodded and forced himself to let go of the clutch, because his hand had started to cramp. "Yeah." He wanted to say more, but that was all he could get out. He couldn't even think past that. Wonder of all wonders, he didn't have to. Sam stooped down and picked up the phone where it had fallen on the floor, punching buttons at lightening speed.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

"I'm calling Bobby and then I'm calling Aunt Ellen and everyone else on your damned list."

"Sam..."

Sam gave him that look, the one that read vengeance, only there was something else there that Dean couldn't decipher. "I know what Caleb meant to you, I know what they all mean to you, even if you won't admit it, but they're Hunters, Dean. They can take care of themselves. This family that the demon's stalking can't."

And that was why Dean loved Sam. Cool, calm logical Sam, who could look this kind of problem in the face and just deal with it. Sometimes Dean had to wonder which of them really was the strongest. He didn't say that, though, didn't say anything as he put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road.

They'd get to Salvation, they'd find the family, then they'd come up with a plan.

*

*

*

Three hours later they pulled into a motel on the outskirts of Salvation, Iowa; cute little town that reminded Dean of Lawrence in a way that made him sick to his stomach. The family wasn't all that hard to find. Sammy suffered another vision and when he came out of it, he said the house was near train tracks and fifteen minutes later, they were walking away from a woman who been pushing a six month old in a baby carriage. Exactly six months old.

It explained why the demon wanted them in Lincoln. They couldn't stop it if they weren't here, except that Sam had no intentions of letting that thing hurt another family.

"Sam, it's a bad idea."

"Have you got a better one?"

No, he didn't, but that didn't mean he liked it. "I'm not letting you do this."

Sam squared his shoulders and it wouldn't have been as impressive if Dean didn't know the kind of muscle those baggy, layered clothes hid. "You can't stop me, Dean. I may be your little brother, but I'm not a child anymore and this is not up for negotiation."

"Everything's up for negotiation, Sammy." When Sam opened his mouth to protest, Dean shoved him back against the car, holding fist-fulls of his shirts and glaring at him intently. "You are a selfish little prick sometimes, you know that?" _Because if I lose you, what do I have left?_

Sam didn't need Dean to say, but he also wasn't backing down. They had few enough options without letting this get in the way of them.

"I know, but we don't have any other choice."

The motel was five minutes away and a little more expensive than Dean would have liked, but he paid for the convenience of being within walking distance of the target. Dean got the room, two queen beds and not because that was all that was available, even if that's what he told Sam, but because Dean was feeling unsure of himself, like when you know you're being watched, but you can't tell from where or by who. How the hell had the demon known about him and Sam? They'd been discreet, mostly, Dean was obsessed with that.

He thought back to the parking lot of McDonald's, where he'd kissed Sam in front of that drive-through attendant. Shit. But just because someone had seen them kiss, didn't automatically mean they were having sex. No, of course not, because two twenty-something year old men alone on the road together for months at a time weren't going to want to have sex or anything, no, they probably just laid together in bed watching Desperate House Wives.

Sam sighed and sat on the other bed, laying back with a flop. Dean hadn't said a word on the drive over.

"Dean." Dean didn't respond, so he kicked out, catching the other bed with his foot and rocking it. "Dean."

"What?"

"We're not having sex tonight, are we?"

He heard Dean shifting and sat up. Dean had his elbows in his knees and he was looking at his clenched hands. "You in the mood?"

"Not really."

Dean nodded, still not looking up. "Go to sleep, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

Dean didn't respond, just stood up and walked into the bathroom. A moment later the shower came on and Sam sighed up at the ceiling. As soon as he was sure Dean was actually under the spray of water, he picked up his cell and called Ellen, relief flooding him the instant he heard her voice.

"Sam, is everything okay?" Sam wasn't the one that usually made the check-in calls, because Dean said Sam couldn't lie for shit and calling Ellen often meant skirting around the truth.

"Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"I just... I needed to make sure you guys were still okay."

"Honey, don't you worry about us. You just be careful."

"Thanks. You, too."

"Get some rest, Sam, you sound like you could use it and make sure that good-for-nothing brother of yours calls me tomorrow."

"Sure thing. Love you, Aunt Ellen." He hung up and smiled a little, setting the phone on the table. Sleep, actually, was the last thing he needed.

Shrugging off his jacket, he pulled his shirts over his head and slipped off his baggy jeans, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He stepped into the shower behind Dean and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist.

They didn't have to talk. He vaguely remembered back before Dad disappeared, when his brother's motives had been a mystery to him, when he'd watch Dean doing exactly what Dad told him without question and wondered why someone as strong willed and stubborn as his brother would do that. Somewhere on the road, that had been left behind, replaced by an intimate knowledge of each other that had nothing to do with sex. It was in the way he felt Dean's abdomen tighten under his hand and knew that his brother was doubting and he knew that if he leaned down, just like he was doing, and bit Dean's ear just so, moving down his neck with teeth and lips and tongue, that the tension would leave that powerful body, leave it vulnerable for Sam in a way it was vulnerable to no one else.

He moved his hands down Dean's wet body, letting them ride over the slick muscle as he slid to his knees and took Dean's hips in his hands, using them to turn his brother around and then push him back so that he leaned against the wall. "Sam..."

Dean choked on the words, but Sam didn't need to hear them to know what they were. Dean's heavy lidded eyes were on him, steady, even as his legs shook. Middle of the night, when no one was watching. This was the Dean that only Sam got to see, the one that watched him as Sam used his mouth to make his brother sigh and moan and tense up in a way that had nothing to do with fear. This was what was inside Dean, what no one else knew was there. None of the girls Dean had been with, none of the men that Dean had used to earn money.

Dean's hand ran over Sam's wet hair and tightened just a little, a satisfied sigh breathing past his lips as he released and Sam eagerly swallowed the evidence. He stood up and Dean pressed Sam back, pushing so that it was Sam leaning against the wall and Dean's hand wrapped around him, stroking him, bringing him off expertly in a way that had everything to do with experience and knowledge of Sam's body and Sam's limits.

This thing with Dad, it wasn't going to be okay and Sam knew that, but as long as he had Dean, as long as he had this to come back to... He pulled Dean against him and kissed his brother, forcing the full lips to open under his tongue, tasting the bitterness that was Dean's coffee soaked mouth mixing with the aftertaste of cum. As long as he had this, he could see it through.

*

*

*

Lincoln was five hours north and by the time they got out of the shower, he had four and a half to get there. They didn't say anything to indicate that this was goodbye, even though they both knew there was a high probability it was, at least for one of them.

It was obvious what the demon wanted. He wanted Sam and Dean out of the way for whatever he had planned, but the demon couldn't be more than one place at a time. He couldn't be in Lincoln and Salvation at the same time. So, Sam figured that they should split up and cover both. Sam was going to the warehouse to confront this thing if it was there. If it wasn't, then Dean would be waiting outside the family's home to protect them.

Dean said splitting up was stupid, he said they were stronger when they were together. Sam said, "Stop worrying, Dean, I won't let anything happen to your car," like that was the real issue and then drove off and Sam wasn't about to tell Dean this, but he thought the whole idea was pretty stupid, too. It was just that, like he'd said before, it was the only one they had.

He drove to Lincoln in absolute silence, but it was the shortest four and a half hours of his life, because he had a whole hell of a lot to think about. He thought about Jess. He thought about what would have happened if she hadn't been killed and by the time he pulled up to that warehouse, it was eleven thirty and any uncertainty he'd had, had been replaced by anger and the knowledge that he wanted to kill this thing.

Getting out, he shut the door and put his hands in his pockets, looking around the empty parking lot. He was early by ten minutes. Sitting on the hood of the car, he watched the large windows for movement. It was cold and he pulled his coat closer to him, keenly aware of his cell phone in his pocket, Dean's number was set on speed dial. If it looked like anything wasn't going to go as planned...

A shadow passed across the window. A man with short hair and broad shoulders. Dad? He stood up and pulled his gun from his back pocket, cocking it. It wouldn't stop the demon, but it might slow him down.

Cautiously, he went inside the warehouse.

*

*

*

Dean sat on the bench in the park, the house just visible, waiting. Ten minutes to midnight. This was a bad idea, him alone here, Sam alone there, but it did have one thing going for it. They wouldn't have expected them to split up. Of all the things the demons would have prepared for, he doubted that was one of them.

So, when he saw the truck pull up in front of the house, he thought, 'that's it, Sam's safe.' He was really relieved for about two seconds, until it occurred to him that meant he had to face down a thing wearing his father's face alone. Fuck, that couldn't be good. Of course, better him than Sam.

He stood up from the bench, bag in hand and dug around until he found the holy water and gun, loaded with blessed silver bullets. Not enough to kill a demon, but it should make it pause. Dean shoved the holy water in his pocket and clasped the gun with both hands as he approached the car, weapon extended.

The first hint that something wasn't right didn't come until Dean was ten feet away from the car. He'd been a good distance away from the house, so he wasn't surprised when the demon didn't notice him there, but the closer he got to the truck, the deeper his stomach dropped.

Why wasn't the demon moving? Why wasn't it looked at him? Why was its head dropped down on its chest? Why did it look, for all intents and purposes, like it was unconscious? The answer hit Dean just about the same time the shit hit the proverbial fan.

His father, unconscious in the truck, because the demon wasn't possessing him anymore, he was... the lights in the house started to flicker, the wind picked up and Dean cursed, unsure what to do first - Dad or the family. A moan from inside the truck made up his mind for him and he ran forward, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans as he reached in through the open passenger side window, unlocking the door.

"Dad?"

His dad's head lifted slightly and tilted towards Dean and time, in that instant, stopped. He'd changed. He'd gained some weight, his stubble was thicker than Dean remembered, peppered with gray, his hair was shorter, he wasn't...

"Dean?"

His dad's voice was choked, torn and sounding nothing like it had over the phone. Nothing. A scream tore from the house and Dean's mind started working again. Sam would fucking kill him if anything happened to that family. "I'll be back, just... just hold on."

Racing for the house, he crashed through the door, tearing up the stairs. The woman was pressed against the wall, inching towards the ceiling, the demon's yellow eyes glued to her from where it stood next to the crib.

"Hey!" The eyes shifted focus and Dean leveled the gun at it - only suddenly the gun wasn't in his hand and he wasn't standing in the doorway, he was flying across the hall and slamming into the wall with what felt like two tons of pressure on his chest.

The woman was inching higher, she was almost on the ceiling. Dean tried to move away from the wall, then tried to just move, but it wasn't happening. This woman was going to die while he watched; die like his mother had and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, because he wasn't a coward, he wasn't.

What happened next was like something out of one of his dreams from so many years ago, the ones where Dad came and rescued him. It had its differences. He was pinned to a wall by a demon, suffocating from the pressure on his chest, not on his knees in an alleyway with a cock shoved so far down his throat he couldn't breathe, but the other thing, the important ones, were there. His father came barreling up the stairs, bruised and gripping the walls for support, but still running. He slid to a halt in front of the nursery, putting himself between Dean and the demon and all Dean could see was his back, broad and strong. He remembered that back from the hundreds of times his father had stepped between him and evil and he remembered how he'd admired it, because seeing it meant he was safe.

The pressure increased, inside him, making him scream as his insides compressed. If Dad said anything, he didn't hear it, he heard the firing of a gun as if from a great distance and then he was on his knees, panting for breath. His dad grabbed the woman off the floor, helping her up, calling for Dean. "Dean! Dean, get the baby!"

_Take Sammy and run._

Dean scrambled up, moved without knowing how he did it, like when he'd saved Sammy from the vampires. Nothing mattered except getting the baby and getting the hell out. The window blew out as he came through the door and he ducked his head over the baby, protecting it from the heat and the flying glass.

He looked back at the burning house as deja vu washed over him. His dad touched his shoulder and he turned around, noticing the anxious woman, looking at the bundle in his arms. He passed it over, giving her a reassuring smile, but he knew it was shaky at best.

She didn't seem to notice. Pushing the blankets aside, she looked back at Dean. "Thank you."

He nodded and the hand on his shoulder made him turn around so that he was looking at his father. Every wall Dean had ever built was threatening to come down. His mind was working too fast. He couldn't fully form one thought before another one came crashing down on him. It was a relief to see him not dead, not possessed; and at the same time it hurt, because where the hell had he been all these years?

Before he could say anything, though, his Dad grabbed onto him, wrapping him in his arms and Dean just stood there, feeling uneasy and unsure and comfortable and safe all at the same time. His arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around his father and holding on.

This wasn't okay, this was everything he'd wanted for so long he'd forgotten he wanted it. This was...

His mind froze and he yanked away, "Sam."

*

*

*

Sam fought his way back to consciousness. He tried to move, but he couldn't. His arms and legs felt like they were made out of lead, even his eyelids were too heavy to open. Slowly, he started to feel things. His arms were stretched out at his sides, his legs spread out in front of him. He was on his back on what felt like a bed.

Slowly, he blinked open his eyes and found himself staring up at a ceiling fan. His head lolled to the side and he managed to focus on his left wrist, bound in heavy rope. He pulled on it, grunting with the effort that just that took, but the rope was tight and it didn't move.

A door opened he looked past the foot of the bed, where he noticed his feet were also tied. A woman came in, dressed in a jogging suit, her eyes light hazel, human, but he knew she wasn't, and he groaned, pulled at the restraints as she sat on the bed next to him. He watched her as she picked up a syringe and filled it with a clear fluid.

Drugs. They were going to drug him. "No..."

She put a finger to his lips. "Sh, we aren't ready for you to wake up yet."

Yet? We? What did she mean? But the needle slipped into his arm, stinging as its contents were injected into him and the heavy lethargy that had barely begun to recede came back, dragging him under.

*

*

*

"How could you have let Sammy go off alone like that?!"

Dean grit his teeth against his father's anger, "I didn't _let_ him do anything, Dad. He's twenty two years old, he did this on his own."

"You should have stopped him!"

"How, tie him to the bed?" As soon as he'd said it, he felt the blush in his cheeks, because it called up visions of the last time he'd done that and it'd had nothing to do with keeping Sam from running off. "I didn't mean... look, we didn't have any other choice, okay? We had to protect that family, but we couldn't just leave you..."

"You should have. Rather than risk your brother, you should have left me!"

Dean hunched over on the bed, his head in his hands, fighting back the anger that was rising in his throat. "No. You don't get to tell me what I should have done."

"Excuse me?" The affronted disbelief in his voice was just like Dean remembered it, only it had always been aimed at Sammy before - for questioning what they were told to do, for disobeying direct orders when he didn't agree with them.

"I said, you don't have the right to tell me what I should have done." He stood up, backing away from his father in as nonchalant a manner as he could manage. His skin had started to crawl. "We've been making our own decisions for ten fucking years, ever since you left. So don't start giving order and expect me to fall in line. Finding you..." he stepped back when his dad stood up. "Don't come near me!"

John stopped, seeing the apprehensiveness in his son's face.

Dean shook his head to clear it. "Finding you meant everything to us. The thought that you might be alive was all that held me together sometimes, so don't tell me I should have left you to die. I couldn't do that. Sam couldn't do that."

He felt small and helpless and dirty again, like when he first starting hooking on the drive from Florida to Wyoming. He wasn't that kid anymore, he knew that. He was bigger, stronger, he could defend himself and he didn't have to suck dick to make money, but faced with his father... god, it felt like he was back there. Dean rubbed his arm nervously. He needed Sam.

John watched his eldest son. Dean's posture was torn between defiance and skittishness, in the way he stood straight, but couldn't stop moving. This wasn't what he had expected, not that he'd really known what to expect. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean looked up at him with large eyes, too large, pupils dilated. John moved forward, half worried that maybe Dean was in shock, but Dean backed up and when he hit the wall, he rebounded away from it, moving so the bed was between him and his father.

"Dean?"

"Don't. You don't get to pretend like you care."

That hurt. "I didn't want to leave you boys."

"Then you damned well shouldn't have." Dean clenched his fist around his arm and John noticed that he was shaking slightly.

"I was protecting you. I got too close to the demon, it was going to use you boys against me, or me against you, I couldn't let that happen."

"You should have called."

"It didn't know where you were, I couldn't do anything that might lead it there.." Dean mumbled something that John didn't catch, wasn't sure he wanted to. "Wha... where did you boys end up?"

Dean let go of his arm. The shaking had stopped. He rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back against the wall again. "Ellen. Ellen took us in."

John nodded to himself. "Good." Ellen was safe, she was a strong woman and the Roadhouse was always full of Hunters. He hadn't been sure where he would have wanted his sons to be until he heard that. Of all the people that could have raised them, Ellen was by far the best. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Don't. Just... don't."

They stood in silence for a minute, two, five. It stretched out, but John couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't read Dean, couldn't tell what he was thinking behind that pale, glassy stare.

The silence was cut by Dean's cell blasting... was that Tainted Love? What the hell was Dean doing with Tainted Love on his cell? Last time he'd checked, his son liked heavy metal 80's rock.

"Fucking Jo, I swear to god...!" Dean took the phone out of his pocket and looked at the display before cussing again. Ellen. "Fuck!" The last thing he needed on top of everything else was to have to explain to Ellen that he'd let Sam go off on his own and that he'd lost contact with him, because while Dad may not have had the right to tell them they were being stupid, somehow Ellen did. He opened it held it to his ear tentatively, looking for all the world like he thought it was going to explode in his hands.

"Hey, Ellen."

"Dean, are you boys okay?"

"Of course we are. Couldn't be better." Okay, so maybe nonchalance wasn't his strongest suit, but it was the only one he had to play right then.

"Really? Because you sound like you're hiding something. Where's your brother."

Shit, shit, shit. "Not here."

"Sam's in trouble, isn't he?" Sam's-in-trouble-dar activated. Well, there was one way to deactivate it in a hurry and quite frankly, it was pretty damned appealing.

"Ellen, dad's here."

"I know, you told me he was in Iowa..."

"No, he's here with me, in the motel room, right now."

Sure enough, that stopped her. He heard a glass being set down a little too hard and couldn't help the satisfaction that made it just that much easier for him to think. Let her be mad at someone else for once. "Are you okay?"

And because there wasn't any point lying about this, he didn't. "No, not really."

"Put him on the phone."

Dean looked across the bed to where his father stood and then past him to the door. He needed air. Walking past him, he thrust the phone at his dad and kept walking, out the door and into the early morning air, where he didn't feel trapped and the light breeze rolling over him cleared his head a little more.

Okay, he had to think. Dean had tried to call Sam first thing after they'd gotten the family out, but it had rung until it put him in voice mail and he'd thought, 'stupid idiot turned the radio on so loud he can't hear his phone,' even thought that wasn't like Sam, because that was more comforting than thinking something might have happened to him. Besides, the demon had been here and he couldn't be in two places at once.

They'd stayed at the scene of the fire for a few hours, until they were sure that the demon wasn't going to reappear and then he rode with Dad in the truck back to the hotel and that been awkward, because Dean couldn't think of anything to say. Sam should have been back at the hotel by the time they got there, assuming he'd left when he'd realized the demon wasn't showing, but the Impala wasn't there.

He'd tried Sam's phone again. It rang and rang and rang and then, "You've reached Sam Winchester. Leave a message and I'll get back to you." He tried back, with the same result, the third time, it rang once and dumped him into voice mail.

His dad had asked what was wrong, where Sam was and he'd had to tell him about their oh-so-brilliant plan of splitting up and his father had told him something that he and Sam simply hadn't thought of. "There's more than one." Well, didn't that just change things? To be fair, demons didn't often work in pairs, let alone groups and according to his father, they were at least three of them, working as a team.

He put his hands in his jacket and took another deep breath. He'd get Sam back, that was all there was to it. It was just a matter of how.

The door opened and John came out and Dean realized that thinking of him by his first name made this easier than thinking of him as Dad. Dad had protected him, had kept him and Sam safe, this was just a stranger that he hadn't seen in ten years.

"I talked with Ellen."

"What did she have to say?" His calm was back, his skin had stopped crawling and he could think.

"I asked her about you and she said it wasn't any of my business." Dean laughed before he could stop himself. He liked that - the words he'd thrown at Ellen so many times being used by her against John - it was poetic. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but whatever it is, it's going to have to wait. We've got to get Sam back."

Finally, something they could agree on, and that it took him away from the emotional side of this was even better.

"Now, they won't have killed him, they need him." Killed. Dean hadn't even thought of that option, he'd only been thinking about getting him back, not what they would have done to him. "As far and their concerned, me and you are just bad influences on him. They'll keep him somewhere, bait us to come get him and finish us off when we do."

That sounded too much like he was saying they shouldn't go. "I'm not leaving him with them."

"No, _we're_ not, but we have to think this through. Where are the rest of your weapons?"

"In the car. Sam took it."

"You boys really didn't put a lot of thought into this, did you?" Dean started to say 'fuck you,' but then he remembered what the demon had said to that and he was afraid John would remember, too. "It's okay, I've got some in my trunk and I've got the Colt."

He pulled a gun out, looking at it like it was salvation and Dean couldn't fathom that because, yeah, blessed bullets slowed them down some, but if there were three of them, one gun wasn't going to be enough. "A gun?"

"Oh, not _a_ gun, son, _the_ gun."

*

*

*

When Sam opened his eyes this time it was night out. He kept himself still until he knew he could move and then tested the restraints. They held firm. He tried to get to the knot with his fingers, but the pull was just tight that he couldn't bend his wrists. His legs could move a little, but nothing significant, not enough to help him.

The door opened again and he ground his teeth as the woman came in again, looking at him speculatively before approaching the bed. "Did you sleep well, Sammy?"

"Fuck you."

"Now, that's not very nice, is it?" He pulled against the ropes and seethed. She reached over and took his face in one of her hands, holding his head in place when he tried to turn away. "We've got plans for you, Sammy, so we can't kill you, but we can make you hurt."

He didn't see the hand move away, but he felt it come back down, snapping his head to the side with a resounding smack that made him see black for a moment. Testing his jaw, he was relieved to find that it wasn't broken, despite the numbing pain.

"Now, be a good boy and don't try anything stupid."

She untied him and he was tempted to kick her in the face and make a run for the window. There was the matter of him not having had enough blood circulation to his extremities the last few hours, though, so, he let her help him up and support him to the half open door that turned out to be a bathroom. She didn't try to help him pee, which he hadn't realized how badly he needed to do until he'd started, but she didn't close the door either. Instead, she stood there with a smirk and a raised eyebrow that had 'impressive' written all over it.

Sam dragged it out, not a hard task, considering he hadn't emptied his bladder in he didn't even know how long. By the time he was zipping up he knew he wasn't at full strength, but his hands and feet weren't tingling anymore. If he got in a good shot, if he could knock her down, he had half a chance of making it out the window and if they were on a busy street, they wouldn't dare chase after him, right? Demons didn't like witnesses.

He had to make her think he was still weak, take her by surprise, because the grip she'd had on his jaw earlier and the way she'd held him up meant she was strong. Stepping forward, he let himself stumble and grabbed the wall for support.

With a sigh, she stepped forward, "Come on, Sam, it's time for bed."

She took another step and he struck, kicking his foot out, catching her in the chest and sending her across the room, where she hit the bedside table and went down on her face. Rushing forward, he went for the window, half fumbling with the latch because he really wasn't as coordinated as he usually was, which actually, wasn't all that impressive to begin with.

She started to stand, looking pissed as he pushed the window up. Or, at least, he started to. There was a noise behind him and the next thing he knew, he was on the other side of the room, face first on the floor, his ears ringing and his head pounding. What the fuck was that?

"That was very, very stupid, Sam."

The girl grabbed his arm and lifted him. His legs wouldn't support him as she dragged him to the bed, dropping him back on it. A man was standing in the doorway, watching while the woman pulled his arms out and retied them, glaring at him the whole time.

"I thought you said you could handle him."

Her eyes melded black and she turned to the man, "I would have stopped him." He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't say anything as she pulled Sam's legs straight and tied them as well. His ears were still ringing and she reached over, taking up the needle again, refilling it with practiced ease.

"Wait. You said you had plans for me. What plans?"

"If you wanted to talk, you should have played nice." The needle slid in again and he flinched, more from the thought that he was going to be unconscious and helpless again than from the pain. She put her mouth to his ear and licked it lewdly, "Sweet dreams, Sammy."

*

*

*

Finding the place hadn't been a problem. The Impala wasn't at the warehouse and the GPS device that Ellen had insisted they put in it finally came in handy. Of course, telling Ellen she was right about something was like putting your hands in fate and since Dean didn't believe in fate, it went without saying that he wasn't breathing a word of this to her. They tracked the car (thankfully unharmed) to the parking lot of an apartment building in Missouri. That was when things became a little more difficult, because there was the matter of finding out if the demons were even in there and if they were, how to get everyone else out so they could rescue Sam.

Dean stared at John in obvious disbelief. "You're kidding, right? That's the oldest trick in the book, they'll know it's us."

"Trust me. I know how these things think."

Dean didn't trust John, but he went with it. Sam was always telling him that if he couldn't think of anything himself, he should shut his 'cake hole' and go with it. Wonder of all wonders, it worked. They set off the alarm, stole some firemen's suits and charged in, wielding axes, holy water and salt. Ten minute later, they were one bullet less for the Colt and Sam hadn't woken up once through the whole thing, but they had him and he was safe.

They drove until John insisted they pull over, saying that he had to make sure Sam wasn't possessed. Dean didn't like it, but he let him, and Sam was clean. He didn't realize how worried he'd been until he heard that and relief washed over him, making his eyes water. Sam was safe, bruised and drugged, but no serious injuries, and he wasn't the play thing of some sick twisted demon. It wouldn't do to cry, though, so Dean sucked it up and just leaned against the door of his car while John stood, looking down at Sam asleep on the seat.

"He's gotten big."

Dean stared forward, "Yeah, well, ten years."

"Yeah." John looked over. "You did too. You know, Dean, leaving you two was the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder even than burying your mother."

"Can we not do this? I need to get Sam back to the Roadhouse." _I need to know what they did to him. I need to know he's okay, need to hear him say it._

"You're right, we need to get him somewhere safe, but, Dean?" Dean looked over, his face hard and set, meeting John's equally determined gaze. "Once we get to Ellen's we're going to have a talk and you are going to tell me what's going on."

Dean bit back his reply - that Ellen had never abandoned him and it had taken her two years to get it out of him and only then because Sam spilled it in a fit of anger and confusion. He didn't say it, though, because he didn't want to stand there waiting anymore. He wanted to go home.

Sam woke up to the familiar vibration of a car and he almost panicked, because that meant they were moving him, but as he breathed in, the smell of Dean filled his senses and he opened his eyes to find himself staring at the back of a bench seat. He mind registered every nearly invisible scratch and imperfection in the leather, every subtle discoloration, proving that he was indeed in the back of his brother's car.

Looking up, he saw Dean's head and felt himself smile. "Dean." The car swerved under him and he laughed, sitting up groggily. Dean looked at him from the rear view and Sam stretched. "You know, this is really anti-climactic?"

"Anti-what?"

"Climactic. I was expecting you to come in with gun's blazing like in all those action movies you used to make me watch. Instead, I fall asleep and when I wake up, I'm already rescued - missed the whole thing. It's disappointing, really."

Dean smiled, but there was something not quite relaxed about it. "Don't worry, little brother, I wouldn't disappoint you. Although, the guns were armed with holy water."

"Could have woken me up for it."

"Tried, you were stone cold out."

Sammy crawled over the seat into the front, ignoring the annoyed looked Dean was throwing him as he walked on the upholstery. "I don't know what the hell they were giving me, but I'm..." wait a minute. "You said 'we.' Did Ellen call the armada?"

"No."

When Dean didn't seem forthcoming with an answer, Sam frowned at the tail lights in front of them. It was night out and his eyes were still having trouble focusing, so he stopped trying. The truck turned on its blinker, pulling over and Dean gave a particularly hard frown, "No way." He sped up and Sam looked back to see the truck pull back out.

"Dean, who is that?" The phone in Dean's pocket went off, but Dean didn't reach for it. "What the hell's going on?"

Still, Dean refused to answer, staring back at the truck with venom in his eyes. Lunging forward, Sam wrestled the phone from Dean's pocket, aided by the fact that his brother couldn't take both hands off the wheel. Finally succeeding, he looked at the number, half expecting it to be Ellen or Jo, and this was only about Dean not wanting another lecture. It wasn't any number that had been programmed into Dean's phone, though.

"Hello?"

"What the...?! Sam?"

Sam's throat locked up and he looked back at the truck, still holding the cell tightly to his ear, listening to the breathing on the other end. The truck's lights blinded him, making it impossible to see the person in it, but he didn't need to. "Dad?"

Realization struck like lightening. Dad was trying to get Dean to pull over, only Dean wouldn't do it and he wasn't answering his phone, because he knew it was Dad calling. Covering the mouth piece, he looked at Dean anxiously. "Is he still possessed?"

"No."

"Then why aren't you pulling over?"

"Just not."

"Dean..."

"Not up for negotiation, Sammy, hang up the phone." Without warning, Sam grabbed the wheel and jerked it hard to the right, forcing Dean to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting a tree. "Fuck, Sam!"

"I don't know what happened while I was... gone," because he knew Dean hated the words kidnapped, captured, or missing, "but I have as much of a right to talk to him as you do."

He opened the door and Dean cursed, slamming his hands against the steering wheel and putting his head on them, trying to control his anger. He wasn't mad at Sam. This wasn't Sam's fault, it was John's. They'd been driving for seven hours, stopped for gas only once, and the entire time Dean had been shifting his eyes between the road and Sam in his rear view, who didn't even twitch. The longer they drove, the more time he had to think, and the more time he had to think, the angrier he got and maybe if he and Sam were alone it would be better, but they weren't. No, John Winchester was driving in front of them - the man who'd abandoned them and never even bothered to check and see where they'd ended up.

Looking into his rear view, he saw Sam standing outside, not hugging John, but standing too close, like he was comfortable with him. Dean grabbed the handle and yanked his door open, stepping out. "Sam, get back in the car."

John gave him that fucking look, the same one he'd been giving him the whole time, but Dean wasn't intimidated. When Sam didn't immediately move to do what he'd said, Dean marched forward and took his brother's arm, dragging him back. "If we hurry up, we can still make the Roadhouse before day break."

Sam pulled back, "Dean's what's gotten into you?"

Dean felt his fists balling up and shoved them in his pockets, looking up at Sam and wishing his brother were just a few inches shorter, because it would be a hell of a lot easier to be intimidating if they were closer to the same height. "We're not discussing this. Get in the car."

"Dean, I know how you feel, okay, but just talk to me."

That carefully built layer of control that Dean kept over his emotions was slipping. Just this once, couldn't Sam do what he was told without asking any fucking questions? "Not in front of him."

"Dean, he left me, too, okay? I know it sucks and I'm pissed about it, but if you'd just..."

"It's not the same!" There went the control and if he'd had the presence of mind, he'd have waved it goodbye. "You don't know how I feel, so don't even pretend that you do!"

"I wasn't..."

"You weren't the one on your knees sucking cock for money, Sam, so don't tell me that you're pissed at him, because you can't even begin to understand what that means!" John was staring at them and Dean rounded on him, turning the anger on the one that deserved it. "You wanted to do this, so fine, let's do it. How about we start from the beginning?" Sam's hand touched his shoulder, but Dean shook it off. "You left! You fucking dropped off the face of the planet without so much as a call and I fucking thought you were dead!"

John had to open and close his mouth several times before anything came out. "You said Ellen..."

"Yeah, she did, because when Sam was ten he got taken by a den of vampires and I got him out okay, but I realized that I couldn't do it on my own anymore. So, I called for help. We were a year and a half on our own. A year and a half of driving, because I was afraid that if we stopped anywhere for too long, someone would get suspicious." It hurt saying it, but if John wanted to know, then he'd fucking tell him all the gritty little details. "So, I hustled pool when I could and when I couldn't, I let men fuck me for money, because that's what I had to do to keep Sammy fed."

"You should have called someone..."

"Who?! Who had you ever told me that I could trust, because I seem to remember years of lectures on how I couldn't trust _anyone_, how all we had was each other. Never once did you say, 'if something happens to me, call...' fucking _anyone_!" Sam was staring at Dean with worry, but fuck that, they'd both started it and while he was at it, he might as way lay all the fucking cards on that table. "Oh, and me and Sam are fucking, by the way. So, if we pull off the side of the road without telling you, I suggest you keep driving, we'll catch up; and don't take the room next to our, because I'm telling you, when I really get him going, he's a screamer." Sam's face went red, nearly as red as John's and that was one hell of an accomplishment.

Sam took his arm firmly, "Dean, get in the car."

"No, he wants to know all about us, let's tell him everything. How about it, Dad, still want to know about how I got raped over the trunk of the car my first time? Or how about when Caleb asked if I was gay because I wasn't interested in women? Or when I first realized you could give a blow job without getting choked? Or..."

Sam grabbed Dean's jacket and spun him around, "Dean!" Dean's eyes focused on Sam, trying to figure out why it looked blurry. He went to rub his eyes and his hand came back wet. He was crying.

He brushed Sam off and wiped his face off with his over shirt. "Is that enough for you? Think you hold off the fatherly concern for a few hours?" Dean didn't wait for a response as he turned around and got back in his car, slamming the door.

Sam stared at the Impala in shock, jumping a little when he saw Dean hit the steering wheel. He'd never seen him blow up like that. Dean was the kind of person that got cold and calm when he was pissed and, yeah, something died, but it was done methodically and with control.

"Sam, is that true?"

He looked back at his dad, wondering what the man had said to set Dean off like that. "Is what true? That we're having sex or that Dean was a whore?" He hadn't said it to be mean, he just honestly wasn't sure. Dad winced, though, and Sam shook his head. "Look, I've got to check on Dean. Go on ahead, we'll meet you at Ellen's."

Not waiting for a response, he walked over to the Impala and got in, letting the door shut a little harder than necessary. "Dean..."

"Not yet, Sam." He put the car in gear abruptly and sped off, leaving John still standing at the side of the road.

*

*

*

They didn't talk for an hour, but Dean did keep the radio on, so while it wasn't as bad as it could have been, it was still a very long hour and finally, Sam couldn't stand it anymore. He reached over and turned off the radio. "Dean, remember when we were being held by those vampires and you said that if we didn't talk you were going to go insane?" Dean didn't respond, but Sam knew he'd heard him. "Well, it's time to return the favor."

"As I recall that ended in a humiliating conversation about my emotional deficiencies."

"Don't forget the mind blowing sex."

"That wasn't sex." Sam's head whipped around and Dean glanced at him, shrugging. "It wasn't! Making out with a good deal of groping involved, but the sex didn't come for months."

"You came like _three_ times before we stopped, how the hell is that _not_ sex?"

"Sex involves penetration of one or more orifices and nothing was penetrated that night."

"One or _more_? How exactly would you go about single handedly filling more than one of my orifices at a time?"

"God gave me hands for a reason, little brother. Is this what you wanted to talk about or are we just killing time?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but there wasn't anything there, so he closed it again and tried to regroup his thoughts. It really didn't help that the idea of Dean's hands was making him hard and, damnit, after what Dean had said back there, he so wasn't about to let him pull over.

"Well?"

"No." Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I just blurted out to Dad that not only was I whore, but that I'm in an incestuous relationship with my little brother, so other than the excruciating embarrassment of realizing that I'm going to have to face him tonight, I'd say I'm doing pretty good." Sam looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow until he caved. "Fine, I'm not okay, does that make you feel better?"

Sam sighed, ignoring Dean's defensive tone for what it was - a tactic. "What the hell was that back there, Dean? I mean, I've never seen you like that."

Dean's grip on the wheel tightened and then relaxed again with visible effort. "He was never possessed, Sam."

"What?"

"Never possessed. As in, when he left, it was his decision. According to him, he was protecting us." Sam tried to wrap his mind around that, but it had frozen. Neither of them, in all their talks about what could have happened, had even entertained the thought that _nothing_ had happened. It was always 'he was possessed' or 'he got killed,' never 'he decided to protect us by leaving without so much as a word.'

Sam sat back on his seat and stared at the road ahead of them again. It didn't feel real. None of this felt real. Maybe he'd wake up and find out it was some dream induced by the drugs or... he pinched his arm, hard, wincing at the pain. Okay, not a dream then. He thought about telling Dean to pull the hell over, not because he wanted sex, but because he wanted Dad to think they were doing it. He didn't though.

Several minutes of silence became half an hour and then an hour and they weren't that far from the Roadhouse now, maybe ten minutes. Dean was wound tightly, staring too hard out the window, like he was only half seeing the road. "Dean."

Dean blinked and his eyes lost that glassy quality, focusing. "What?"

"There's just one more thing I'd like to say before we get home."

"What?"

"I am not a screamer."

Dean's mouth twitched up. "Not yet."

Sam gave Dean a sour look, despite the fact that he was pleased to see his brother relaxing his death grip on the wheel. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my innocent little brother, that there a great many things we haven't done and, in light of recent events, I intend to rectify that, starting with putting you over my knee and spanking your ass for coming up with that stupid idea."

"It wasn't stupid!" He tried to will down his cock as it hardened at the thought of Dean spanking him. "It worked, didn't it?"

Dean slid his eyes over just long enough for a chastising glare. "If by 'worked' you mean got yourself kidnapped, then yes."

"Smart ass," he mumbled his reply, knowing that Dean was right. "Still not a screamer."

Dean didn't say anything and Sam looked over, his sense of dread growing. He knew what that glint in his brother's eye meant. It was the same glint he got when he thought he was being clever, like when they'd almost gotten caught after breaking into a crime scene for clues and they were hiding in the closet while the police talked and Dean decided that was a good time to give Sam a blow job.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about it for a while, because Sam's only rule was that the Roadhouse was a no-sex zone. He refused to sleep with Dean and have to look Ellen in the eye the next morning. It had never been a problem, though, because Ellen was Dean's kryptonite when it came to sex, worse even than the visions were for Sam.

They pulled up in front of the Roadhouse, Dad's truck right behind them and Dean fought back a sigh. The lights were on, which meant Ellen was up. Great, just perfect. A good, stern lecture about doing stupid things that put them both in danger was exactly what he needed right now. Dean shut his door and went inside, followed closely by Sam.

Ellen was standing next to the bar and Dean nervously noted the rifle propped up next to her. He hadn't done anything _that_ bad. Except that John chose that minute to walk in and Dean found himself in a position he'd never been in before - the one where Ellen's wrath wasn't aimed at him.

She looked at John sternly and said, "Boys, you go on back. I'd like a word with your father alone."

Dean didn't move at first, even as Sam immediately started walking past her to the back door, stopping to give her a kiss on the cheek and say, "Hi, Aunt Ellen." It was routine for Sam. They came in the door, Ellen sent Sam back to the house, and then she yelled at Dean for a while about responsibility and how even though Sam was an adult, Dean was still responsible for him.

Ellen turned her stern gaze from John to Dean, seeing that he hadn't move. "I'll see to you later, Dean, go with your brother."

She almost laughed as he stormed past her, mouthing 'damnit.' Dean was nothing if not predictable. Sam had always been a much bigger handful. Unlike his brother, Sam thought things through and part of that process had always been how to get away with it. He was good at it, too, good at looking apologetic and Ellen hadn't bothered lecturing him half the time she should have, because in the end if he wanted to do it, he was going to, regardless of what she or anyone else thought. Perhaps that was why she had leaned so hard on Dean to take care of Sam. At least Dean understood accountability.

When she'd heard the faint rattle of the back door shutting and the sound of the boys' half hearted bickering as they walked away, she turned her attention to he matter at hand - John Winchester.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Ellen..."

"No, you tell me what was more important than those boys."

John put his hands in his pants pocket, a move that strongly reminded Ellen of Dean. "I didn't want to leave, Ellen, you have to know that. Without Mary, they were all I had, but the demon was..."

"The demon, that's what this was about? Taking away Dean's childhood, getting Sam nearly killed or worse. Why is it that I'm not surprised?"

"It's not like that..."

"Then what is it like? What, exactly, was worth putting them through that hell, because that's what it was, John. You should have seen them when they first came here. Dean wouldn't let anyone touch him, not me, not Jo, and he nearly fell out of his chair the first time Ash patted him on the back. Sam wouldn't talk. For weeks, he didn't open his mouth except for when he woke up screaming from nightmares. That's the only way I knew he even had a voice. And then there's this relationship of theirs..."

"You know about that?!"

"Of course, I know. Haven't said anything to them, yet, but I'm not blind and, honestly, since it's started, Dean's almost been normal. I'd worry about Sam, but... well, if I told him to stop it, he'd just run off, taking Dean with him. At least this way, I know they're safe."

The disgust on John's face was nothing that she hadn't dealt with herself and he'd get over it, just like she had. "They're brothers, Ellen, that's incest."

"Thanks for pointing that out, John, I hadn't noticed."

"Fuck." Another Deanism - when you couldn't think of anything to say, curse. It seemed strange because she'd never realized how hard Dean tried to be like his father. She didn't think he did it on purpose, but Dean had made hiding his emotions an art form and that was John Winchester all over. The man hadn't been able to deal with his wife's death, so he'd stopped dealing with anything other than hunting.

"This isn't about them, John, this is about you." Ellen put her hand on the handle of the rifle. If she thought it would encourage him to talk, she already would have been aiming it at him. "You explain yourself and it had better be good or you are walking out that door and I never want you going near them again."

"The demon wanted Sammy." Ellen's hand slipped from the rifle. "I thought I was tracking it, but turns out it was the other way around. It was going to use me to get to the boys and I couldn't let that happen."

"Why didn't you call?"

"It was keeping tabs on me, Ellen, anyone I'd called, it would have found. This demon is more powerful than anything I've ever faced and the only way I could protect them was by disappearing. After a few years, when they got older, I figured maybe it was safe, but... hell, I was scared to face them."

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, staring him down. "Have you told the boys this?"

"Dean won't let me a get word in edgewise and I haven't gotten to talk to Sammy."

"It's Sam now. Dean gets away with the kid name sometimes, but I wouldn't try it if I were you." John nodded and the hands pushed further into the pockets. "So, what are your plans?"

"Hunt the son of a bitch down and kill it. Kind of hoping I can convince the boys to come with me."

"You'll have one hell of a time with that one." He nodded gravely and she almost felt sorry for him. What would she have done in his place, if it was Jo that needed protecting? Certainly not abandonment, but she saw what he had been thinking. "Talk to Sam. If he goes, Dean will. Those two are on a short leash and you guess who holds which end."

John could, he remembered how anything Sammy had wanted, all he had to do was pout and Dean caved, even when John had explicitly said no. "Thanks, Ellen."

"Don't thank me, yet. You still have to convince Sam and I can promise you, that's not gonna be an easy task."

*

*

*

The house was eerily quiet when they came in. Ash was passed out on the ratty sofa, either having drunk himself into a stupor or fallen asleep watching infomercials again. They didn't bother creeping past him, because a bomb could have gone off and he wouldn't have woken up; at least, not unless that bomb was Ellen.

Jo's door was shut, lights out, but Dean wasn't in the mood for revenge just yet. Sam saw him looking and rolled his eyes, continuing through the swinging door and into the small kitchen, where a box of cookies sat on the table with a note in Jo's untidy scrawl that said there was beer in the fridge.

Sam looked in the fridge and whistled. "Breckenridge! She's trying to get on your good side."

"Yeah, well, she should be. It was bad enough when it was Cory Hart, but Softcell's going too far." He took the offered beer and opened it, taking a long gulp.

"So... what do you think their talking about?"

Dean shrugged, watching Sam run his fingers over the edge of his own can, not opening it. "Doesn't matter, really." He pulled the box of bite sized cookies to him. They weren't even open yet, she really was feeling bad. Good, then she'd understand when he dumped her ass in the trough.

Sam opened his can, but didn't make a move to drink it. "So, you want to tell me what happened while I was gone?"

Dean tipped his beer at his brother, "You first."

"Not much to tell." Sam drank a little, just a sip, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I went in, weapons at the ready and the next thing I knew I was flying across the room. I guess I must have hit my head or something, because I don't remember anything for a while." Dean waited with his eyebrows raised. That contemplative look meant there was more and he didn't think he was going to like it. "They said they had plans for me."

"What kind of plans?"

"Didn't say, just that there were plans. I don't think it's good, though."

Dean nodded and drank, tossing the empty can in the trash and going for another. "Yeah, well, they're demons. Anything they've got planned isn't exactly going to the Christmas with the Waltons." Sam's face was still drawn tight, he was slouched over, staring at the can with disinterest. "Sam, we'll figure it out."

Sam nodded and did a toasting motion with the can before gulping it half down. "So, what about you?"

Dean tried to be brief and sum the whole thing up, nice and neat, but Sam was good at prying and he was damned good at figuring out where to pry. There wasn't a single word left out by the time he got finished and Sam's hand was resting on his knee, trying to comfort him even though they both knew there wasn't any comfort for this sort of thing.

"Then you woke up and... you know the rest."

"Yeah, I do. So, he says he was trying to protect us?"

By now, Dean was working on his third can and he was starting to get that pleasantly numb feeling in his brain that said he was just that side of drunk enough to deal with this. "Yup. Demon was after him or us or both and he ran so it couldn't find us."

Sam didn't say anything and Dean frowned at his brother's thoughtful expression. "Sam, that doesn't make what he did okay."

"No, I know that, but it changes things."

"How?"

"It was after me then and it's after me now and we know something big is going to go down and I've got a part in that. I don't think it's safe for us to stay here. We don't want to put Aunt Ellen and Jo in danger." 'Us' and 'we' and Dean looked at Sam from the corner of his eye, watching his brother's face.

Dean ran tongue over the inside of his cheek, trying to put the words together to say what he was thinking. Finally, he settled with, "You want to leave, we will, but not right away. Aunt Ellen'll kill me if I don't make you rest for a few days at least."

Sam stared at him and a slow grin began to spread.

Dean rolled his eyes, "What? Don't look at me like that."

"Is the almighty ice queen finally admitting that this is home?"

"Shut up."

"No, this is a monumental occasion." Sam turned his chair and slid his hand up Dean's thigh. "Say it again, call her Aunt."

"Oh, I hate you."

Sam leaned closer and nipped the side of Dean's mouth. "You don't mean that. Come on, Dean, for me? You can do it. Just open that pretty mouth of yours and say, 'Aunt Ellen.' "

His voice was breathy and he was caught between a pout and a smile. Dean fought the twitch of his lips. "Fuck you."

The pout went away entirely, replaced by one of those wicked grins that said a rule was about to be broken. "Well, if we're going to be here for a few days." Before Dean could remind Sam where they were, Sam was kissing him - in Ellen's kitchen, with Ash asleep on the other side of the door, with Jo just one wall away in her bedroom and... and somehow that made Dean so fucking hot that not even the thought of Ellen walking in one them could have stopped him. Hell, if anything, it turned him on more.

Sam moaned a little and Dean put his hands into Sam's hair, holding his head in place as he ravished his brother's mouth, completely oblivious to anything around them. At least, until he heard, "I'd ask if I'm interrupting, but I think I already know the answer."

They jumped apart so fast that Sam tipped his chair over and he fell on the floor. John was standing in the doorway, his face red with obvious embarrassment. "I, uh... I'm sorry, I just... I needed to talk to Sam."

Dean stood up, blocking his younger brother, but Sam scrambled up as well and stepped around Dean, his ears red at having fallen, but his face set and certain. "It's okay, Dean. If I'm not back by the time you've finished the last of the beer, call the armada."

It was meant as a joke, but Dean frowned and Sam rolled his eyes. He leaned in and kissed Dean, slow and soft, conscious that their father was watching, before he headed towards the back door, John following. Dean sat down heavily, grabbed the can and tilted it back, gulping it down before tossing it across the kitchen into the trash can.

John's face flashed across his mind and the realization that his fucking father had walked in on him making out with his brother. Time for number four. If he were real lucky, he'd be too wasted to remember this in the morning.

*

*

*

Sam listened to Dad while he talked, not exactly pensive, but not throwing punches and that was something. The years had smoothed out a lot of Sam's memories of Dad. He'd kind of remembered what the man looked like, but exact conversations and personality traits had been lost. 'Dad' was almost as mythical as 'Mom' for Sam, but he knew that wasn't the case for Dean.

Dean had always done everything for their dad's approval, even after they'd thought he was dead. He'd never recognized anywhere as home or anyone other than Sam as family, because it felt too much like betraying the memory of his father. Now, that memory had betrayed him and Sam wanted to feel bad about it, but he thought it was almost a good thing. If nothing else, Dean had stopped clinging to a ghost from his past and was looking at the present, where this was home and Ellen was family.

"So, you want us to go with you."

John nodded, "You aren't safe anymore, Sam, it knows where to find you. We're safer together."

Sam chuckled a little, hanging his head for a moment before looking up. "Safer? Look, I'm not going to argue that we're safe, I won't even argue that there is safety in numbers, but you do realize what all of us being together is going to mean?" John didn't answer, so Sam plowed ahead. "Dean puts on a really good face most of the time, but the last few hours, he's scared me. He's got no control and that's because of you. So, how is he safer when he can't think straight enough to hold in his temper? With you around there's a good chance he'll do something stupid and get himself killed."

"Not to mention, if we go with you, you'll have to put up with us and by 'us,' I mean the sex. Can you honestly say you'll be okay with us in the same motel knowing what Dean and I are doing on the other side of the wall?"

John cringed, "Honestly, I don't want to know what you two do. You want to be... together? I guess I can't really tell you not to. Even without me having been gone for so long, well, you boys are adults. So, I'd ask that you try and keep it down at night and I'll make sure there's a room or two between us."

Sam stared at him in shock. That was... unexpected. "You mean that? You don't have a problem with us sleeping together?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but I'm not going to try and stop you. This thing I'm hunting, it killed your mother, it killed your girlfriend and, yes, I know about that. You were pretty much on the radar at Stanford, but without me or Dean there, apparently the demon didn't think it was an issue. At least, not until..."

"Do you know why it took Jess?" He'd buried his pain in Dean, but it was still there. Jess had been special to him, much the same way Dean was and when he thought long enough and hard enough about it, every bit of the anger he'd learned to deal with came back.

John shook his head, "Not the exacts of it, no. I just know that it had something to do with whatever plans that thing has and I've got no intentions of letting it happen."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, remembering Dean's fingers on the back on his head a few minutes before. "I can't... we can't. I want to kill the demon as much as you do, but Dean..." he glanced at the house. Dean was sitting in there, getting piss drunk because the father he'd always idolized had just disappointed him in the biggest way possible.

"Sam, it's to keep you safe, to keep Dean safe. They want you away from us. If you two go it alone, you're putting Dean in danger."

"That's low." Dean's safety was as much Sam's priority as Sam's safety was Dean's.

"But it's true and you know it. They'll try to separate the two of you. At least if we're together it's three against one." John hesitated. "I missed you boys. I'd like to get a chance to know you again."

Sam looked at the ground, his teeth clenched. As much as he was mad at him, Sam couldn't deny that he'd like a chance to get to know his father, too. There had to be something in there, the same something that Dean had looked up to, spent his entire life imitating. Besides, maybe if they spent time together they could come to some kind of peace. It was never going to be the same as it had been before, but maybe it could get... better. He thought better might be good for Dean.

With a resigned sigh, he opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by an ear piercing scream. For a split second, his mind drifted towards, "oh, god,' but the scream was immediately followed with, "Put me down! Dean!!"

A grin spread over his face and he put out an arm to stop his father from going forward. The back door burst open and Dean came out, carrying Jo over his shoulder, her hair tangled in her face, her bare legs kicked the air. "Dean, let me...!!"

Her scream was cut off as he dropped her none-to-gently into the water trough, splashing brown water over the sides. She resurfaced, gasping wetly. Dean stood back and watched her with his arms crossed over his chest, while she tried to push herself out of the trough. She slipped back in once before finally managing to get her feet under her, standing up in the trough, dripping wet wearing only her t-shirt and... Sam raised an appreciative eyebrow. He hadn't realized Jo wore thongs.

She wrapped her arms around herself and glared at Dean. "You asshole!"

"Well, at least you're not asking why I did it."

"I bought you Breckenridge!"

"I didn't hold your head under."

She glared, but didn't say anything in retaliation, just stepped out of the trough and stormed into the house as Ellen was coming out. She looked at Dean, "You feel better?"

Dean gave her his lazy smile, "Oh, yeah."

"Get in here." She held the door wide, patting Dean's back as he went past her and then looked over at John and Sam. "You too, Sam. You boys need a good night's sleep. John, Ash fell asleep on the sofa, so why don't you take his bed in the back? You remember where it is."

John gave her a salute and she watched him walk of, hands in his pockets, his back straight. She also noticed the way Sam watched him go and she knew, without having to ask, that they'd be leaving with him. Whatever he had said to Sam, the boy had bought it. Not that she'd had much doubt. She remembered John Winchester well enough to know he was mighty convincing when he wanted to be.

Sam stopped to hug Ellen before heading off to his and Dean's room, a haunted smile on his face. They'd probably push the beds together again. It was one of those nights.


	5. Part Five: Promises

Title: Promises  
Series: All We Have  
Pairing: Dean/Sam  
Rating: R (hard)  
Warning: Wincest;mild het; non-con  
Summary:The Winchester boys go on their first hunt with their father in over ten years.  
Author's Note: This is the fifth and final part for this series. It took me one month, a Depeche Mode CD, many sodas, five containers of sour cream dip, and a lot of back pain to write it. I hope you've enjoyed it.

* * *

**Promises**

They stayed at the Roadhouse for five days, after which time Dean had announced that if he didn't get to kill something soon, he was going to lose his sanity. No one questioned him on that. In the five days since they'd arrived, bringing John with them, Dean had gotten into two physical fights with his father, three shouting matches, and every other word Dean said to the man was either dripping with sarcasm, or specifically designed to piss him off.

On the sixth day, Sam sat across from John, a map and several news articles in front of them. "So, there's a man in Sacramento that shot himself in the head three times. Apparently, it's not the first violent, unexplainable suicide, either. This was the fifth one in the past five years, all men."

John looked over the printed articles, "You put this together, Sam?"

"No, Dean did. He's practically got a sixth sense for the supernatural."

"Really?"

Dean gave a huffed laugh from where he was sitting next to Sam, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, Dad, looks like being a freak kind of runs in the family."

Sam cringed, but tried to ignore the comment. Honestly, Dean had already said worse than that this morning. "So, we're about a day's drive from there. If we head out now, we can make it just after sunrise tomorrow morning."

John looked at the map. "We taking 80 all the way in?"

"We were thinking 80 to 76, then switch to 70 in Denver, 15 up to 50 and 50 puts us back on 80 about thirty minutes outside of Sacramento. It'll shave a few hours off the drive."

"Not bad."

"That's Dean's work. I'm not much use until we're in the thick of things. Dean's the one that finds the job and gets us there."

"Yeah, who'd have thought that I had brains?"

Sam grabbed Dean's knee under the table, pinching it painfully and making him jump slightly. John looked between the two of them. "So, what is it that you do, Sam?"

"I'm research boy and back up. Not much good until we get there."

Dean looked at Sam sideways and batted his eyelashes playfully. "Oh, Sammy baby, you're good for a lot of things before we get there."

John's face went that particular shade of red that was an interesting mix of embarrassment and anger. When Ellen or Jo were around, Dean was on his best behavior where Sam and his relationship was concerned, but the moment they were left alone with their father, Dean seemed to take particular delight in making the old man as uncomfortable as possible.

Note, the sausage incident. It had started as an innocent breakfast between the three of them, that moved into a display of exactly how talented Dean's mouth was, which turned into a yelling match in where John had been arguing "appropriate" and Dean had been arguing "fuck appropriate, it's your fucking fault, anyway." Then John had yelled, "I didn't tell you to become a whore!" which had ended with Dean's fist in John's face and John's fist in Dean's stomach and the two of them rolling around the kitchen until Ellen and Sam had finally managed to pull them apart.

Sam frowned at Dean and pushed the map over to his brother. "I'm going to load the car." As expected, Dean followed him, leaving John at the table alone. Sam had done most of the packing that morning, because it had been an easy way to ensure that they didn't leave the room until well after their dad was done eating. It wasn't going to be easy once they were on the job, though. They'd be forced to spend more time together and if Dean couldn't manage to get himself under control, then that was just begging for disaster.

"Stop pouting."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was sitting on the end of the bed. "I'm not pouting, I'm annoyed." He zipped up his bag and shoved it aside, sitting next to Dean. "If you keep acting like this, it isn't going to work."

Dean scowled at his knees. "Maybe I don't want it to work."

"Dean." Sam waited until Dean looked at him and that was going to make it harder. While Dean may have been able to hide it when others were around, it was just the two of them in here, door closed, and the hurt in those eyes was easy to read. "I know it's not easy, but it's safer this way and you've seen all the research he's done. Staying with him, we've got half a chance of catching this bastard and ending it."

Dean sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "This isn't going to end for me, Sam. I'm not going to stop hunting just because we kill the biggest bad. Hunting's all I know, Sam, it's all I'm good for."

Sam couldn't hold back the grin that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "To quote a certain someone, 'baby, you're good for a lot of things.'" Dean hit his arm and Sam retaliated by grabbed the back of his brother's neck and kissing him, hard, drawing it out until he had to breathe. "We'll worry about the future when it gets there, okay? Right now, there's something out there that wants you dead and me... well, we don't really know what it wants from me, but whatever it is, it's not getting it. If we have to stick with Dad to keep safe, then that's what we do and you will stop trying to bait him."

"I can't help it. When he's around I feel like I can't breathe."

"I know." Sam pulled Dean forward, wrapping his arms around him. "It'll get better, Dean, I promise."

Dean laughed a little. "Rules, Sammy, you're always forgetting the rules. It's barely dawn."

Sam tightened his grip protectively, but didn't response.

*

*

*

Ellen watched John and Dean glare at each other as they walked to their respective cars and Sam couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a very long eighteen hours. She gave Sam a long look, "You sure this is a good idea?"

Sam shrugged, wishing he had a better answer. "I don't know, maybe not. If it looks like they're getting ready to kill each other, I'll drag Dean home."

"You do that." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into the all-too familiar passenger side of the Impala.

That had been only four hours ago and he was starting to think that them killing each other wasn't as ridiculous an idea as it had sounded back at the Roadhouse. Dean's eyes were glaring hard at the taillights in front of them as he spoke into the phone, his voice firm and raised just above normal, "No, for the last time, I'm not stopping. Then pull over and catch up with us later. Look, this isn't up for discussion, _old man_."

That was it, Sam reached over and grabbed the phone from Dean, cutting his father off in mid-rant about how he was in better shape than most twenty-year-olds. "Dad! What's going on?"

"Your brother is refusing to pull over and get gas."

"And you can't do that without us because?"

"For one, it's not a good idea for us to separate and for another, I know for a fact that gas guzzler gets about the same mileage as my truck."

Sam looked over and, sure enough, the needle was hovering over empty. He nudged Dean and gave him a look that clearly read, 'What the fuck?' motioning towards the gage. Dean just shook his head and nodded toa sign that they were passing. Proctor, 5 miles. Proctor? What was in... oh.

"Dad, you go ahead, I'll talk to Dean, but if we don't stop, give me a call as you're pulling out." He hung up before John could argue and turned to Dean. "We need gas, Dean."

"No."

"You don't even have to get out of the car."

"Sam..."

"I know, but we've driven this stretch maybe ten time and you know as well as I do that there isn't another gas station for twenty minutes outside of Proctor and you're not going to make twenty minutes."

With a curse, Dean put on his signal and got into the right lane, preparing to exit. "I'm not getting out of the damn car."

Sam didn't say 'that's fine,' because when Dean got edgy like this, the less talking the better. No chick flick moments and any talking about why Dean didn't want to stop in Proctor was definitely going to qualify as a 'chick flick moment.'

John pulled into the little Conoco and Dean followed after him. He turned the car off while Sam filled it up, but didn't release his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. John parked on the other side of the pump and Sam tried to act nonchalant, but it was hard when he could see the motel across the freeway and the bar/diner next to it, looking not nearly as ominous as it had back then, which was somehow worse.

"Sam, you want to tell me what's going on?"

He looked over at John and tried to think of a way to explain things without going into unnecessary detail. It was a damn good thing Dean's door was shut and that John had chosen to speak in a lowered tone, because just that question could have led to another outburst and the last thing they needed was to get in trouble with the police and have to spend even more time here.

"We got ourselves stranded here for about a week."

"And"

"And... it was a week stuck in a town where Dean couldn't scam cash and we needed money for a hotel and to get the car fixed up. Look, Dean's usually pretty good with these kinds of things, there are very few places he won't stop - Rachael, Nevada; Vallera, Texas; and Proctor, Colorado. That's it and considering the kinds of shit he had to do, that's not that bad."

"What happened in Vallera and Rachael?"

"Vallera's where I got taken by the vampires."

"Rachael?"

Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. "You don't want to know."

"I wouldn't ask if..."

Dean opened his door and they both stopped talking, staring at him like guilty teenagers. "If you two ladies are done gossiping, I'd like to get back on the road."

Sam cringed at the accusation in Dean's voice, but finished filling the tank silently. Part of him wanted to tell his dad, it would serve the man right to hear all the gritty details and, honestly, how could Dean expect John to really understand if he didn't talk to him about it? Other than the few yelling matches they'd had, the topic seemed to be even more taboo than Sam and Dean's sex life - Dean didn't want to mention it, John didn't want to hear it, and it wasn't Sam's place. So, they were stuck, each only half understanding what the other was going through and at this rate, it really wasn't going to get any easier.

Dean didn't talk for thirty minutes after Proctor, but when he did, it was back to the same old shit. Sweep it under the rug, and pretend nothing had happened. Sam shifted his cramped legs and leaned against the door, taking in his brother's serious profile. "So, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that it's probably a cursed object, or maybe some kind of demonic possession."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"I know."

Sam shook his head, but decided to play along. "Cursed object makes more sense, maybe something that's getting passed around. We should check the archives when we get into town, find out if the victims have a link or something in common."

"See and that's why I keep you around. That and the blow jobs." When Sam raised an eyebrow, Dean smirked, "That was a request by the way."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned the music up and leaned back in his seat. This was definitely going to be a long drive.

*

*

*

They rolled into Sacramento just before dawn and got a motel room. Dean said that they should catch some sleep and get the investigation started first thing in the afternoon. Sam would have argued that, but he hadn't been able to sleep very much in the car with Dean's music blaring and he was stiff and sore from sitting in the same position for seventeen hours.

However, sleep wasn't the only thing on Dean's mind. No, top priority went to fulfilling his promise to make Sam scream and, much to Sam's eternal shame, it turned out that Dean was right. Apparently, there was a hell of lot more to sex than mutual masturbation and blow jobs and, apparently, Sam really, really liked the rest of it. Liked it enough that when he sat down to eat lunch several hours later, John gave him a cold, calculating look that said he knew exactly why Sam was walking a little more stiffly that afternoon than usual and it had nothing to do with the car ride.

Dean grinned across the table at John and picked up his drink, sucking at the straw suggestively. "Sleep well, Dad?"

John frowned, but managed to reign in his temper. As much as Sam wanted to be thankful for small favors, he didn't think it would last. They were twenty-four hours overdue for a fist fight. He just hoped he managed to get some food down before it started.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Sam took a packet of crackers. "So, we were thinking about hitting up the old archives first to see if we can find a link between the victims."

"Already did that." Sam looked up at his dad, questioningly. "Some of us couldn't sleep."

Dean chuckled, to which Sam promptly stepped on his foot. "What did you find?"

"The victims were related. Kevin Aimons was Carl Richardson's son-in-law, who was Mark Braynard's step-father, who was Toby Braynard's younger brother, who was Clark Kingstone's cousin by marriage. So if we're thinking cursed object, then whatever it is, they're keeping it in the family." Dean chuckled again and managed to dodge Sam's foot this time.

Sam set his menu down and fought the urge the shift in his seat again. It really wasn't going to help, anyway. "Okay, well, Kevin Aimons had a wife, right, Lily? Let's go talk to her and see what she can tell us."

The waitress came over to take their orders - coffee all around, eggs and toast for Sam, Dean wanted sausage and Sam kicked him in the shins this time, telling the waitress to make that bacon, please. If they wanted to fight, he'd let them, but what he wasn't going to allow, was another screaming match over Dean's prostitution in the middle of a Denny's.

They ate silently, though Sam did notice that John hardly touched anything on his plate and neither did Dean, who was looking far too pleased with himself for it to be genuine. John paid for the meal, or, to be more precise, Frederick Gray paid for the meal, after which a quick call to directory assistance got them Lily Aimons' home address.

Dean and Sam had suits, all John had was slightly less wrinkled jeans and a button up that had seen better days. So, since the article had said that Kevin worked for a private law firm, Dean and Sam decided that it was probably better for them to go question Lily, and John could flash his fake badge and get into county records as an off-duty investigator to see what he could dig up.

Of course, it wasn't the best arrangement. Dean hated the suits and he fussed the entire time, right up until the door to the apartment opened, revealing a petite blonde with large, blue eyes, wearing only an oversized t-shirt. Instantly, Dean's sneer melted into a winning smile.

"Mrs. Aimons? I'm Dean Rodgers and this is my associate, Clive." Sam fought the urge to throw him the 'I hate you' look. That was the last time he let Dean introduce them. "We worked with your husband and we thought we'd stop by and offer our condolences."

She looked confused for a moment, but nodded and moved aside, opening the door. "Of course, come in." They stepped through the door. "I'm sorry, what did you say your names were?"

"Dean and Clive."

"Right, and you worked with my husband?"

Dean nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes scanned their suits and she was looking confused again. "You're janitors?"

Sam stepped in, seeing Dean falter, "No, but we worked in the same building. Saw him around a lot."

"Oh." She closed the door and motioned to the couch. "You must work late hours. Kevin didn't even start until eight."

Dean sat on the edge of the sofa nearest her, "Yeah, we're just raking in the overtime. We were really sorry to hear about Kevin. They said you were there when it happened?"

Lily nodded gravely, "Yes, we were having a fight and... I guess I just never realized how unhappy he was."

Sam scooted forward, putting on his best sympathy face. Tag teaming a grieving widow wasn't exactly high on Sam's list of 'things he was proud of,' but it worked well enough. "Lily, did he act strange before he died?"

"Strange?"

"Like, did he talk to himself, or say that he was seeing things?"

"No, of course not. Why?"

Dean made a subtle gesture with his hand, a specific sweep of a thumb across the back of his hand that told Sam Dean thought he should investigate the place. Sam gave his puppy dog eyes, "No reason, I didn't mean to pry. Do you have a restroom I could use?"

"Down the hall to the right."

Sam stood up, leaving Dean to charm her while he disappeared into the hall. He opened and shut the bathroom door just loudly enough to be heard and snuck forward into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and the bedside table had scraps of paper and mail covering it and spilling onto the floor. The dresser next to the door had several picture on it, all of them face down.

He picked one up carefully. Wedding picture - according to the article, he'd only been married two years. A heart shaped box on the bedside table caught his attention and he shifted the mail carefully to the side, opening it. A small silver ring sat inside it, newly polished and shining, a symbol carved into it in dark relief. They looked... strange. Not quite right. Just looking at it made him feel uneasy.

Rummaging around on the table, he found a scrap of paper and a pencil and copied down the symbol before replacing the ring. Quietly, he snuck back through the hall and into the bathroom, where he flushed the toilet and ran the sink for a minute before returning to the living room... to find Mrs. Aimons three little inches from sitting on Dean's lap.

What the fuck?!

Sam cleared his throat, "We'd better be going."

At least she had the courtesy to blush. God, her husband was only three weeks in the grave!

"I'll call you." Dean winked at her and slipped his hand discreetly into his pocket. Sam heard the familiar sound of paper crinkling. Tramp!

She nodded and walked them to the door, winking at Dean as she shut and locked it behind them. "Dude, what the fuck was that?"

"Well, let's just say our dear Mrs. Aimon's isn't exactly grieving."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He was cheating on her. She found out a few days before he offed himself. According to her, they were trying to work it out, but she didn't really think it was going anywhere."

Now that he thought about it, the room had been seriously lacking in the usual mourning signs. No tissues, no sleeping pills, all the pictures had been turned face down so she didn't have to look at them... So, no love lost then. Still, "Did you have to take her number?"

"Dude, come on, it's been months since I've added to my collection. Last time was... wait..."

"Robin, waitress in Indiana."

"That's right, the big breasted brunette that was wearing those shorts that rode up her..."

"Dean!"

Dean rolled his eyes, but he had that twinkle in them that said he was having fun, which almost made it okay. Almost, because Sam knew that when this sort of thing started up again, there was always a reason for it. Usually it was because there were other hunters around and Dean was trying to fit in, be 'one of the boys' as it were. Sam never discouraged it, because they were always hiding their relationship anyway and Dean flirting with women only helped that. Now, though... he'd bet anything this had to do with Dad, though he'd be damned if he knew how.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel."

*

*

*

"Oh, god, Dean."

Dean lifted his mouth until just the head of Sam's cock was pressed between his lips. Sam gripped the headboard tighter as the fingers in his ass twisted, brushing against...

"Boys, are you in there?!"

Sam dropped his hand and bit it to keep from crying out as Dean chose that moment to deep throat him. The tingle that had been building in his balls shot straight to his cock. He whimpered against the pain in his hand and the pleasure of Dean's throat milking the cum from him.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god..." It was muffled by his hand and the knocking on the door, but Dean apparently understood it well enough, because he lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not god, little brother, just me."

Sam swatted at Dean, and forced his shaky legs to move. Where the hell had Dean thrown his pants?

"Boys?!"

"In a minute!"

Dean lay back on the bed, shirtless, wearing only his jeans. Sam eyed the obvious bulge in Dean's jeans, "Would you mind?" Dean shrugged, but raised his knee and adjusted himself so it couldn't be seen from the door.

Pulling his button up on, Sam opened the door with a serious expression that he hoped would belay every other goddamned sign that they'd been doing something other than research. It had _started_ as research. It had started with Sam on the laptop, looking for details on the other victims in a national database that wouldn't be available to their father in the local archives. It had quickly declined, however, when Dean started rubbing him from behind, moving his arms under Sam's shirts and into his pants. From there, it had been a short five minutes to getting Sam undressed and sprawled on the bed, long legs hooked over Dean's shoulders and Dean's oh-so-talented mouth latched onto his cock.

John's eyes traveled over him in a speculative sort of way and Sam felt his face turning redder. He knew what he looked like with that healthy after-sex flush on his cheeks, his hair slick with sweat at the temples, his shirt open to his similarly sweaty chest and his jeans slung low and unbelted on his hips. He might have tried to pass it off with, 'I was exercising' except Dean was grinning like a goddamned Cheshire cat from the bed.

"Is that all you boys do?"

"No." Really, talking about sex with your dad was embarrassing enough, but talking about the sex you're having with your brother? So, not happening. "What did you find?"

"Can I come in?"

"No, I'll come out. Dean, go take a shower." Sam stepped outside, ignoring Dean's sour look. Usually, Sam would have felt guilty about leaving Dean unsatisfied, but if he were honest with himself, he wasn't feeling giving at the moment. He was mad at John, too, but he was getting sick and tired of Dean dragging him into the display he was making of himself. If Dean wanted revenge, fine, but he didn't have to use Sam to get it. "So, what did you find?"

John waited until the door was firmly shut and Sam was buttoning up his shirt to answer. "Not much, but I did find local rumors that Toby Braynard was having some kind of fight with his brother when Mark died. Something pretty bad, too. Bad enough that even though they had three witnesses, they still felt uneasy calling it suicide."

"Hm, Lily said her and Kevin were fighting. She found out he was cheating on her a few days before he committed suicide."

"Okay, so maybe that's the connection."

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe. Carl Richardson was the one before Kevin, right?" John nodded. "Okay, let's check and see if we can dig up any old friends, see what was going on with Carl before he took a dive."

*

*

*

Mr. Richardson wasn't fighting with anyone in particular, but he'd had plenty of enemies, his own son-in-law being one of them. According to one of the boys that worked in Richardson's Auto Shop, Carl had tried to put his foot down when his daughter had announced she was marrying her trailer trash boyfriend. Apparently, he didn't think the 'good-for-nothing floor sweeping nigger' was fit for his baby girl.

Dean looked over the list again. Seven people with enough reason to push the bigoted asshole off the bridge, but he hadn't been pushed. Now they just needed to figure out why. He looked over at Sam, scrolling through articles and gossip on his laptop with John leaning over him, making suggestions and pointing out anything that caught his eye.

They looked... not comfortable, but maybe at ease with each other. Like they were okay with the close proximity and that made Dean's blood boil. He had to get out of here. "I'm going to go visit Lily again."

"Why?" He caught the jealousy in Sam's tone, but ignored it. If Sam wanted to play nice with John, fine, but Dean didn't have to sit and watch.

"Maybe Kevin told her something about Daddy dearest that we haven't been able to find in the records."

John nodded his approval and Dean felt a sudden rush of inexplicable pride in himself. Fuck, he really did have to get out.

Sam didn't look so convinced. "Be careful. Call in an hour."

"You're starting to sound like Ellen." Dean dodged the empty diet Coke can that Sam threw at his head and shut the door behind him.

Sam waited until he heard the grind of the Impala starting up and the rattle of it driving out of the uneven motel parking lot. He didn't realize John was watching him until he said, "You think it's a mistake letting him go?"

"Maybe." Sam took a deep breath and looked back at his laptop. "But Dean's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Besides, if he doesn't check in, I'll stir up trouble with Ellen."

John tensed up a little. "She really cares about you boys."

Sam shrugged, still scrolling through the hits to his search, scanning titles and summaries for anything promising. "Why shouldn't she? She practically raised us."

There was something he wasn't telling him, something in the way he stayed tense, but if there was something between Ellen and John, Sam would much rather hear it from Ellen. A promising article caught his attention and he clicked on it. No, that wasn't it. He was running out of options.

He sat back and chewed his lip. Maybe... maybe it wasn't Carl or Kevin. Something about Lily bugged him, something more than her giving her number to Dean, or her obvious lack of mourning. He typed in Lily Aimons then backspaced, changing it to Lily Robinson.

"So, this thing with you and Dean. That just about sex or... something else?"

Sam didn't move, but he could feel the heat building in his face. "Um, something else."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

Closing his eyes, Sam took several deep breathes before opening them again and focusing on his computer screen. "If this is about last night and this morning, we're both consenting adults. Leave it."

"Sammy, I'm only worried about you."

Now Sam did look up, his face set firmly. "It's Sam and don't bother worrying about me. I'm the one that wanted this in the first place. So, if you want to worry about someone, worry about Dean."

John didn't say anything to that and Sam went back to the computer. "Here's something. Lily Robinson, daughter of Marian Robinson, a local voodoo woman who was found murdered in her home ten years ago." There was a picture of Marian next to the article. Not a pretty woman, Lily must have taken after her father...

Something caught his attention and he clicked on the picture to enlarge it. "There."

John stepped forward again. "What there?"

Sam pulled the paper out of his back pocket and held it up to the monitor. "This was on a ring I found in Lily's place, same symbol as the necklace her mother's wearing."

"You think Lily has something to do with this?"

"It fits. Lily's father objects to her getting married, he jumps off an overpass in front of oncoming traffic. Her husband cheats on her, he shoots himself. Kind of a big coincidence."

"That doesn't explain the others, though." Sam looked at the symbols and then shut his laptop, grabbing his leather bag from the floor. "Where are you going?"

"_We_ are going to the library." Sam shoved his computer in the bag and pulled it over his shoulder. "I want to find out what this means."

*

*

*

Dean felt guilty. Really, really guilty. He also felt really, really good. It had been over a year since he'd been in this position. Lily hadn't felt much like talking when he'd gotten there. In fact, she'd offered him a drink and he'd barely gotten out "no thanks" before she jumped him, pulling him down onto the couch on top of her. Part of Dean wanted to protest, but the other part - the part currently fondling her breast and sucking on her neck - thought this was a great idea. Nothing made a girl more talkative than good sex.

She bent one of her legs over his and arched into him, pressing her slim hips up against his groin. He moved his hand from her breast and pushed it into the waist of her pants, feeling the tops of her cotton underwear against his fingertips...

And he couldn't do it. It wasn't supposed to be her under him, it was supposed to be Sam, it was always supposed to be Sam, even before he knew Sam wanted it, before he realized he wanted it. Sam was the only one he trusted, the only one he could let his guard down with. Every girl he'd been with had been an act, but not Sam, Sam was the real thing. This was just a cheap substitute.

Sitting up, he cursed and glowered at the ground while Lily watched him, confused and looking more than a little uncomfortable. "Dean?"

He raked his fingers through his head before throwing her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Oh." She sat up, pulling her shirt back down and the look on her face was just close enough to ashamed of herself that Dean flinched.

"It's not you, okay? I just... I've already got someone and I thought this was a good idea and you're really attractive, but apparently..." He couldn't help but laugh a little, "Apparently, I'm gay."

She looked at him questioningly, "You're partner? What was his name, Clive?"

Dean nodded and sighed a little in relief, because her voice wasn't so much upset as embarassed. "Yeah, he and I are... kind of a thing."

Lily nodded and there was that awkward moment where neither of them said anything, then, "He's lucky."

That made Dean laugh, because he was the lucky one, not that he'd ever say that out loud.

"Do you want that drink now?" She was heading towards the kitchen and he started to shake his head, but, what the hell?

"What have you got?"

Twenty minutes later, Dean was rethinking the whole 'getting drunk' thing. It had sounded like a good idea. She was a stranger, so anything he said wasn't going to get back to Sam, or John, or, god forbid, one of the other hunters, but, honestly, she didn't need to know this much.

"So he just left you for no reason?"

Dean nodded into his glass, his fourth one actually. "Yup, picked up and left. He says it was because he was protecting us, but you know there are only so many ways a fifteen year old with no papers can make money and none of them are pretty."

Her brows came together for a moment and then shot up. "Oh!"

"Yeah, that shit's not easy to forgive, you know?"

"I can imagine."

"It's like he just wants me to roll over and say 'it's okay, Dad, I understand,' except I don't and... and..." he looked at the clear concoction in the half empty glass, "what's in this, anyway?"

Lily giggled, sipping her own. How many had she had? Must not have been much, because she seemed perfectly in control. "Enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant."

"What?" Had she just said tranquilizer?

"Vodka, lots of it. So, you were saying?"

"Hm? Oh, no, that's about it, really. He disappears, fucks up my life, reappears and now everything's even more fucked up. Sums it up all nice and neat."

"What about you're partner, Sam?"

Sam... he should probably give Sam a call soon. Dean gulped down the rest of the drink, noting that the room was starting to tilt. He really would have to find out what was in this.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"How does your partner feel about this?"

"Sam... I should call him." He closed his eyes to get his head straight and when he opened them again, the room was still swimming. Something wasn't right. "Wha...?"

He looked over at Lily, but she was just watching him. She looked... patient, like she was waiting for something and that's when it hit him. She'd said _Sam_. He stood up, or, more to the point, tried to stand, but he had to grab the arm of the sofa to keep his legs from buckling under him.

"Wha'd you do?"

She smiled, as pretty and pleasant as she had the day before, nothing giving away that she'd done anything at all. He looked at the door, but she didn't move to stop him. No fucking wonder, because his legs were going numb.

"Just a little something to help you relax. Don't worry, it'll only last a few hours, but that's more than enough time."

"Ti' t' wha'?" Oh perfect, his tongue wasn't working. Dean slid to the floor as the room pitched sideways and she stood up then, but only to walk around and kneel next to him.

"Sh. You'll see."

He didn't want to see. He wanted... he needed... but his vision was going black around the edges and she was dragging him down so his head was in her lap. He didn't even have the strength to flinch as she stroked the side of his face while he slipped into unconsciousness.

*

*

*

"Okay, so apparently this is a symbol called a Veve and it's from the African practice of Vodoun, a precursor to Voodoo." Sam spread out the copies he'd made on the table and John picked up his coffee to make more room. "I couldn't find much on Vodoun and most of it was on about how it was misunderstood and the persecution of the slaves in France, not a whole lot on the hows and whys. However, I did manage to find this."

He pushed one of the pages forward. "This is the symbol for Ayizan. Ayizan is kind of motherly, she protects places and she punishes people for doing wrong. She's also a patron of the priesthood, female counterpart to a god called Loco. Now traditionally the symbol doesn't have any power unless it drawn on earth. Putting in on jewelry would be merely symbolic. So, I'm thinking Marian was a priestess..."

"...and she passed it onto her daughter." John finished. "Still doesn't make Lily a killer."

Sam shook his head, gathering the papers and shoving them in his bag. "No, it doesn't, but there was something about her, something... not right."

"You'll need to be more specific than that."

"Look, just trust me on this, okay? Something isn't right and it has to do with Lily Aimons. Let's go talk around, see what we can find out about her and her mother." He shouldered his bag, then pulled his cell out of the front pocket and looked at it, frowning. It had been almost two hours since Dean had gone to Lily's. He'd said to call in an hour, but when Dean was in one of his moods, there was no telling when he'd decide Sam had waited long enough. Chances were, he was already waiting for them in the motel room, sulking. Still...

"Dad, did Dean call you?" God, it felt weird saying 'Dad.'

John shook his head, leading the way to his truck. "No, but I'm sure he's fine."

Sam wanted to believe that, he really did, but Dean and he never split up unless it was absolutely necessary and even then things tended to go badly on one end or the other. Like when they'd gone to Iowa or the time they'd been investigating that creepy ass scarecrow and he'd let Dean go to the college alone while he kept an eye out for any other potential victims. Yeah, splitting up always worked so fucking well in the past.

Damnit. He stopped outside the truck and dialed Dean's number, gripping the strap of his bag to keep from tapping his foot impatiently on the ground as the phone rang. And rang. And rang. Until, 'Leave a message.'

He'd never gotten Dean's answering service before and quite frankly, before the worry and fear set in, his only thought was, 'That's abrupt. Kind of rude, actually.' Then he realized that Dean hadn't picked up. Dean always picked up for Sam, no matter how annoyed he was with him.

John looked up and saw Sam, standing too still and stiff beside the truck. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Dean didn't pick up."

There was a tremor in Sam's voice and he hadn't looked up from his phone. John got a sinking feeling he wasn't going to like what that meant.

*

*

*

Dean's mouth was stuffed with cotton. He tried to move his head, but it throbbed painfully and he groaned into the cotton. No, not cotton, that was his tongue, only it felt too big and his eyes felt like they'd been glued shut, but he managed to pry them open, only to find himself staring into darkness.

Where the hell was he and how had he gotten there? Slowly, his memory came back to him and he groaned again, this time at his own stupidity. Great, just fucking great.

His hands were stretched out on either side of him and he pulled at them only to find that they were tied in place and they weren't the only thing, his feet were stretched out and lashed, ankles together. _You know what, fine, this day officially sucks_. He thrashed around for a minute, hoping that what they were tied to would give, but no such luck. Goddamn, fucking bitch! Why couldn't she have tied his hand behind him? At least then he'd have half a chance at getting them undone.

He rolled himself to one side, yanking his right arm so taught it hurt, but giving his left arm some slack. Feeling around the roped with his fingers, he tried to find the knot. Nothing doing, she'd tied it off at the back of his hand. Giving up, he relaxed on his back and panted.

His hip vibrated and he almost laughed in relief as the sound of Deep Purple filled wherever the hell he was. ...except that he couldn't get to his fucking phone with his fucking hands and feet tied out like he was being fucking crucified! That was it!

"Hey!" He didn't get a response, but his voice didn't echo either, and somehow that was a comfort. "Hey, bitch!"

Nothing - not a sound, not a flash of light, just a whole lot of nothing. He laid his head back against the ground and took a deep, earthy breath. Okay, it was dark and it smelled like rock and dirt, so he was probably in a cave. That was almost good to know, except that he was just familiar enough with the geography of California to know there weren't that many cave systems near Sacramento.

His phone stopped ringing and he put his head down on the ground. He was so fucked.

*

*

*

Sam stood in front of Lily's apartment and knocked firmly. Dad was waiting by the truck, obviously irritated that they'd taken this detour. He'd argued that if Sam really thought she'd kidnapped Dean, then it was more important that they gather information about her, because she wasn't going to just open the door and invite Sam in.

However, that was exactly what she did. Her door opened and she smiled brightly at seeing him. "Clive, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, look, have you seen my partner, Dean? He was supposed to have come over here earlier." She was dressed in a t-shirt and faded jeans, no blood, her hair wasn't even messed up.

Her cheeks tinted pink with a blush and she ran her fingers through her hair. "He was, but he left."

Oh, he did not like that blush, or that tone in her voice that said she was one small step from giggling. "Really? Do you mind if I come in?"

She shrugged and stepped aside, no hesitation, no looking behind her to make sure there wasn't anything out of place and as he looked around, he realized there had been no need for it. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the day before. The only changes he could find were that the sofa pillows were a little disheveled and there were two glasses sitting on the coffee table. Nothing to get excited about, nothing that indicated a struggle.

Lily watched him as he took in the apartment, patient and not in the least suspicious. So, why did she still make him feel so uneasy?

"When did he leave?"

"About... half an hour ago, maybe."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, "If he calls you, could you tell him that I'm looking for him."

"Of course."

Reluctantly, he opened the door to let himself out. She stopped him.

"Hey, Clive? I think you should know that... well, nothing happened. I mean, it almost did," there was that flush again, "but he stopped and we had some drinks and he left. That was it." Why was she telling him that? "I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business, but he told me about the two of you and you looked kind of pissed just now and I wanted to tell you there wasn't anything to be pissed about. He really loves you. Not many men can stop when they've got they're hands literally down a girl's pants."

Now that was just a slap in the face; except her expression was open and honest, like she hadn't meant anything hurtful by it. There was something there, something he was missing, he just knew it, even if he couldn't put a finger on it. "Thanks."

Her smile brightened, obviously pleased with herself, "Good luck finding him."

He looked back, but the door was already shut. That had sounded almost like a challenge. Sam walked back outside to John, who was waiting impatiently by the truck. "Well?"

"He's not there." Sam got in and waited for John to follow before continuing. "There weren't any signs of a struggle and she says he left half an hour ago after they had a few drinks." Which was bad, because Dean didn't often drink, but when he did, it was with the sole intention of getting drunk. Of course, that was assuming she wasn't lying.

John watched Sam closely as his son chewed on his lip, obviously not believing what he'd been told. "She could be telling the truth."

Sam shook his head, "She's not. Dean would have called."

John wished he could believe that, he really did, but he'd been less than a week with his boys and he'd seen Dean do some pretty reckless things. Sam trusted him and that was good. If you were going to hunt in pairs, you needed to be able to trust your partner, but John wasn't convinced Dean was worthy of that trust.

Still, Sam wasn't likely to listen to anything John had to say on the matter. "Look, we'll question some more people, but it's almost seven and there's not much more we can do tonight."

"There's bars."

"Sam, we drove straight in from Ellen's and you got maybe four hours sleep last night, I got less. In a little while we're both going to be doing more harm than good."

John didn't know, couldn't know, because they hadn't told him, that when Sam had gone missing Dean hadn 't slept for nearly three days - not until they'd been safe in Bobby's truck. He didn't say that, though, because that fell under the category that Dean had dubbed 'none of John's fucking business.'

Still, Sam wasn't resting until he found out where the hell Dean was and so help him, if he actually _had_ gotten drunk and passed out in his car somewhere, he wasn't getting laid for a week. Actually, two weeks, because Sam was already planning on holding out a week for the bastard putting his hands down some slutty girl's pants. He didn't care what kind of information she might have had, that was just plain unacceptable.

*

*

*

Deep Purple was playing for the twentieth time since he'd woken up. Fuck, he was never going to be able to listen to that fucking song again after this. It finally stopped after an agonizing thirty seconds and he was trying to decide what he was going to change it to, when light slowly began to filter into the room as he heard the sound of footsteps shifting gravel.

Oh, thank fucking god, it felt like he'd been in that room for days. "Hey! Hey, who's there?"

The light suddenly became blinding as someone came around the corner. He closed his eyes but that didn't stop the pain from shooting through his skull.

"I thought you'd be awake by now." Oh, great, it was the bitch. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"I've had better." Dean forced his eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. Lily was holding a Coleman flashlight, a bright smile on her face. He'd been held captive before, not with the same regularity as Sam, but once or twice and at least those people had had the decency to look guilty or evil or... well, anything other than that fucking chirpy.

"I'm really sorry about this, Dean, but I couldn't take any chances with you."

"Lady, I don't know who you think I am, but..."

Her smile faltered for a moment and she knelt beside him, frowning. "Let's not do that, shall we? I'm not an idiot, Dean Winchester."

He scowled. "Okay, fine, what the hell do you want with me?"

"Oh, nothing with you really." She pulled the backpack off her shoulder and set it down, "Did you know that in the dark underworld, you boys are pretty well known. After your little visit - and by the way, Kevin didn't work nights, you really should have done more research - I made some calls and I didn't get past 'two, attractive young men' before they said, 'Winchester.'"

It really shouldn't have been flattering, knowing that he was that well known among demons. It should have been annoying, because anonymity was pretty important in his line of work, but...

"Although, it isn't so much you or your brother that they're worried about as your father." Hey! "There's a price on his head, one I intend to collect."

"What?!"

"Oh, yes, a certain yellow-eyed friend of yours has offered quite the reward if I can end the Winchester nuisance for him." What stung most about that was the fact that it had stung at all. His father had abandoned him. He shouldn't be feeling this tight chested at the idea that some bitch was going to kill him. Hell, he should be thanking her, but he couldn't. It was like someone had forced the air out of his lungs.

"Of course, getting to him is going to be tricky... Well, I thought it would be, but you just walked right into that, didn't you?"

Lily was drawing something on the ground with a stick, a symbol that he couldn't see from his angle. "Don't feel too bad, though, once you've helped me take care of your father, I have every intention of sending you to join him. I'd let your brother follow, but," she put down the stick she'd been using and crawled over to him, leaning down to whisper, "I'd get in a lot of trouble if I let anything happen to little Sammy."

She pulled back and Dean strained against the ropes binding his wrists when he saw the happy, satisfied smile on her face, like she'd just sold her last box of girl scout cookies or something. Lily kissed his cheek and leaned back, grabbing a jar from her bag before leaning over him. It was too dark to tell what it was, but when she opened it, the tang of blood invaded his nostrils.

The jar was set down next to him and she straddled his chest, taking his face in one of her hands. He tried to turn his head to the side, but she was surprisingly strong, holding him still as she dipped her thumb into the jar and mumbled something in a language that he didn't recognize as she ran it over his forehead. A tingle ran through him, something unnatural and there was a feeling like something was trying to crawl under his skin.

Lily got off him and went over to where she'd been drawing on the ground. She took the jar with her, setting it open in front of her. The murmuring continued, breathily as she sat back in the circle with her eyes closed in an almost meditative pose. The mumbling stopped and as eerily silent as the cave may have been before, it suddenly had the quality of a sound proof room. Lily's eyes opened and they were solid black, not a trace of pale blue or white. Fuck.

She crawled forward with grace like a serpent. There was nothing in her face that resembled Lily anymore. Her legs straddled his hips and pressed down against him as she laid with her chest against his, running her tongue over the blood on his head.

"Punish the wicked." Her voice sounded hollow and her lips met his, making him gag as her blood-coated tongue forced its way passed his lips. His body suddenly felt drained, like he was floating in a dream. She continued her assault, filling his mouth with her tongue and the taste of blood. It was like the tongue was extending, reaching up through his throat and into his brain.

Dean screamed as everything he'd felt in the past ten years was pulled out of him; every memory, every emotion, he felt them all over again and, oh god, they hurt! Even the ones with Sam were coated in guilt. Sam was his younger brother and why was it that the one person in the world he should feel dirty having sex with, it felt right? Did that make him a bad person, or just more of a freak than he already was? Did Sam really love him, or was Dean just the one thing that had always been stable in his life? Was that Dean's fault, he'd always encouraging Sam to keep their past a secret between only them?

She moaned above him and her pelvis pressed down against his lewdly, her mouth continuing to suffocate him while she raped his mind, forcing him to relive moments that he'd tried so hard to forget. The first time he realized that Sammy knew what he was doing and if he hadn't felt dirty before, he was filthy now. The look on Sammy's face just before Dean was raped, those green eyes too wide and frightened and Dean knew he couldn't fight off a man twice his size and the only thing he could do was tell his brother to look away. His first training session with Caleb and when the man had touched him, just to show him a hold, he'd felt sick and he'd known then that he was never going to be normal, that he was just going to have to learn to deal with it. How he'd had sex with Jo for six months and he hadn't liked it, not once, because it had felt damn good, but he'd been physically ill after every time and he couldn't break it off with her, because he hoped it would go away, that it would get better, even if he knew it wouldn't.

Everything, every little memory, jumbled together and replayed for the thing winding itself through his head. It flipped through them all, speeding through the ones with Sam like that wasn't what it was looking for. It slowed down at them finding John, at his realization that his father had left them, had left _him_, not because he was hurt, or dying or possessed, but because he'd wanted to and it didn't help that John said it was to protect them. What the hell kind of parent protects their child by leaving? The resentment and the hate, the need to hurt John in any way he could, not just physically. If Dean's relationship with Sam made the man sick, good, because Dean could use that too and it hurt Dean to use it as a weapon, the one thing that he could almost find solace in, but he didn't fucking care.

Then it stopped and he knew he was crying, could feel the wet tears on his face. Lily was staring down at him, black eyes filled with lust. She leaned down to kiss him again and he could have turned away this time, because she wasn't holding him still anymore, but he was... maybe in shock? He couldn't feel anything, inside or out, couldn't wrap his head round what she was doing.

She pulled away, reaching between them to unbutton his shirt and he tried to force himself to ask the questions he needed to know the answers to, but all he could get out was, "What...?" before his throat locked up.

"Sh." She kissed him chastely on his bloody forehead and pushed his undershirt up, kissing his chest, her fingers working the fastenings of his belt. He couldn't breathe. His body was hyper-aware and the memories were back, but they were of Sam. His Sam, sweaty and staring down at him, but that wasn't… Sam didn't get on top, he knew how uncomfortable it made Dean feel, how trapped.

He tried to ignore the hand as it wrapped around his cock, stroking it until it hardened, because Sam's hands weren't that soft, they were callused and they were bigger, but it didn't seem to matter what his body was telling him, the only thing he could see was Sam. Sam looking down at him with a relaxed smile that said everything was okay. Sam's hands on his chest. Sam's tight heat enveloping his cock and making him dig his nails into his palms to keep from moaning. Sam riding him, lifting up and down and rolling his hips and Dean was cuming, calling out Sam's name, and closing his eyes because it felt like something was being ripped out of him.

And just like that, the illusion was gone. The probe or whatever the hell it was that had tapped into his mind, evaporated and left him, staring up at Lily as she tried to catch her breath. She didn't move for several seconds and when she did, it was to lay down beside him with her head on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

He didn't move and she hovered half over him. The black was gone, replaced by normal, pale blue and her face was relaxed, smiling again, like she hadn't just violated someone on the dirty floor a cave.

"Dean, can you hear me in there?"

Dean scowled, but still didn't say anything. She sighed and put her head down again. "I've done this five times, Dean, and that... that was a rush." A finger trailed along his jaw. "You have so much pain, it's... oh, god, it made me feel like I was on fire."

"What did you do?" He would have congratulated himself on finally getting it out, but she laughed at the question, one of those lazy, post coital laughs that sounded a whole hell of a lot like Sam and that just pissed him off.

"The same thing I did to Kevin and Daddy and my brothers and Uncle Clark. Although, it's never been that intense before." Dean's scowl deepened and she laughed again. He was going to rip her head off with his bare hands. Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm a Priestess of Ayizan. Did you know that?"

One of her hands was sliding back down his abdomen towards his exposed cock and he clenched his hands harder, feeling them cramp.

"My mother taught me how to call on the spirits and harness their power. It's an unbelievable high. Of course, mother dearest always said that it was dangerous and that it should only be used for good and blah, blah, blah. I really got tired of listening to it. So, I killed her. I did it the sloppy way, though, I pinned her to the bed, slit her throat and then called the paramedics, claiming I'd woken up and found her that way. I was only thirteen, so of course they believed me."

"Then old uncle Clark got suspicious. I didn't want to kill him, I liked him, he gave me candy when I was little and a place to live after mother, but, survival of the fittest and all." She was playing with the trail of hair that led down to his crotch. His happy trial, except it wasn't so happy right now. "I couldn't just kill him, though, it had to look like an accident or something. So, one night, I'm calling the spirits and they did the most amazing thing. They snuck into their bedroom late at night put a bloody hand on my aunt's forehead and took all her anger, built up over something like thirty years of marriage and then they touched my uncle and made him see it and assert a little of their own will for justice into him, just a push to help him on his way and the next morning, he killed himself. Just like that. I didn't even have to find the body, hell, I wasn't even there."

"I'm sure you've done your research. You'll know all about Clark, and Toby and Mark and Carl. They went a little overboard with Kevin, though. Apparently, he really didn't need that much of their will to push him. Surprised the hell out of me when he just kept shooting. That's what caught your attention, right, the article about his death? Still, I suppose I should have changed my methods up a bit, but it was just so easy. Suicide with witnesses, I mean, what more could a girl ask for?"

Dean's mouth opened before he could stop it. "Candy. Flowers. Jewelry."

"Oh, witty." Her rubbed her palm over his limp cock and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from vomiting. "Like I said before, though, it's never been this intense. Usually, I let them take my body and they search them out for me, the ones that harbor the most animosity for the intended victim. They can see it in them and I can too when they're part of me. Touch and blood is all that's really need. Put a little blood on my palm and shake their hand and I'm in business. It's a little disconcerting for them, sure, but none of them were like you, they didn't have nearly as many delicious memories as you did. It's like the difference between a handheld flashlight and a flare."

He tasted the bile in the back of his throat and bit his cheek harder, drawing blood.

"You're such a good boy. When Daddy gets here, I'm going to show him exactly why you can't forgive him and we'll see how long it takes him to turn that precious gun of his on himself."

*

*

*

Sam sat at a table in the back of the bar, holding his beer out at arm's length, staring at it in disgust. Despite John's insistence that they sleep, it was rounding on midnight and he had yet to go back to the motel. That wasn't entirely true, actually, their second interview was with one of the late Toby Braynard's best friends and it turned out that Toby had been saying none-to-flattering things about his step-sister a few weeks before he died and that, no, no one had seen it coming - Toby had been captain of his football team, looking at a scholarship to a good university, dating a pretty girl steady for about a year, prom just around the corner. There was just no reason for him to step in front of an oncoming train. After that, John had turned on the tracking device and they found the Impala, parked behind the motel, just out of site.

So, they hadn't gone to bed, instead they'd gone back out, looking for people who might have more information on Lily. The only problem was, Sacramento wasn't exactly a small town. This wasn't one of those places where anywhere they went they'd bump into someone who knew their suspect.

"Clive?"

Sam looked back down at his cell phone, thinking about calling Dean again, but he hadn't picked up the last forty times and unless he did, they couldn't track him with it. After this he was having one of those GPS chips put in both their phones. Of course, he realized, he was assuming Dean even had his phone on him.

"Clive?"

Whoever took him, could have taken his phone as well.

"Clive!"

He jumped as a woman's voice yelled into his ear and turned around to find himself staring at Lily Aimons. Red-brown dirt dusted her clothes, from her overly tight t-shirt and short, corduroy skirt to her black sneakers. That wasn't what bothered him, though. She was leaning close to him and he could smell something familiar on her, something other than the sweet perfume she was wearing. He could smell Dean. Maybe it was that they'd lived too long in too close quarters, but he'd know that smell anywhere and in any crowd.

"I thought that was you!" Lily smiled brightly and leaned away from him. She sat down and he glanced back at the bar, where John was still talking to someone. "So, did you have any luck finding Dean?"

"Um, no." He forced his attention back to her. "You haven't heard from him?"

"No." Lily sat back and raised an eyebrow, "Are you okay?" When he didn't answer, she shrugged, "You look upset about something."

Quickly, Sam tried to straighten his face the way Dean had always been able to, but Sam was an open book and he knew it. "Hard day. I'm worried about my partner."

"Oh." She looked at the bar quickly, as if checking for something and her smile twitched that much wider at whatever she saw. "I'd better be going. Good luck, again, let me know if I can be of any help."

Sam waited until she was half way to the door and stood up, shoving his way through the crowd to the bar and grabbed his dad by the jacket. "Come on, we have to go."

John pulled away and gave an apologetic glance at the man he was talking to. "What's wrong?"

"She's here and she's leaving and she smells like Dean." He didn't even think about how weird that last comment was until he saw the look on John's face. "Look, we just... we have to go, okay? If you want to stay here, fine, then give me the keys."

"No, we'll go together." With another nod to the man he'd been talking with, John followed Sam out the door, concerned by his youngest son's agitation. Sam had always been the thinker, which was why John and he butted heads a lot, ever since he was old enough to talk. For every order that John gave, Sam had always had a question and he would simply refuse to move until he knew the answer. There had been more than one occasion that John had had to physically drag Sammy to the car, because explaining would have taken too long.

However, Sam wasn't thinking this through, or if he was, he was suffering from the same impatience that John had had with him when he was a small boy. Sam looked around the parking lot as they walked towards the truck. "She's in the black Jetta by the road. It looks like she's checking her hair or something.

"Sam, has it occurred to you this could be a trap?"

"Doesn't matter, she's got Dean."

John almost argued that, but it was true. If she had his boy, he'd walk into her trap. Of course, he'd walk into it heavily armed. "Get in."

They waited until she'd pulled out and turned left, then followed. It shouldn't have been easy to follow a black car in the dead of night through a crowded city, but either it was definitely a trap, or John was just that good at tailing people. Sam couldn't really tell which and at that point he didn't care.

As soon as they were out of the city, following her at a safe distance through hilly country road, John sat back a little in his seat and took his eyes off the road just long enough to assess Sam, who was so tense on the edge of his seat it looked like he was itching to jump out the door. Actually, he probably was.

"Sam, you need to calm down." Sam looked at him sharply and then, slowly unwound himself, releasing his grip on the dash board and sitting back. John wouldn't have called him relaxed, but it was a start. "Tell me what's going on."

"She came in, said hi, she was covered in dirt and smelled like Dean and don't look at me like that. I spent a year a half in a car with him, most of the time in various stages of un-washed. Knowing what he smells like is pretty much inevitable."

"We went through this before we left Ellen's, Sam. I'm not going to tell you that you can't be with Dean and I'm not going to pass judgment on it, either. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. Especially with Dean shoving it in my face constantly."

"Yeah, well, he's hurt, what do you expect?" The rigid line on Sam's body had eased some with the conversation and John was relieved for that, at least. If Sam went into the fight tense, especially considering that they didn't know what they were up against, he could get hurt. He needed Sam alert to his surroundings, not so focused he couldn't see anything other than Dean.

"I expected him to act civil."

"Civil?! There's nothing civil about this entire situation. You know what, I'm beginning to think coming with you was a bad idea. All that talk about sticking together to stay alive, but is it honestly worth it if it puts Dean through _this_?"

The tension was back and anger on top of it. There was a fury behind Sam's words that surprised John. "When I left, Dean was the one always protecting you. When did that change?"

Sam's face went blank, not in any angry way, just in that way that said John had struck a chord. For nearly a minute, the car was silent and then Sam started laughing, little chuckles that said he'd come to some realization that he found amusing. After a few minutes, he looked back at John and he was smiling and it was the same smile that John remembered from when he was Sammy - broad and honest and contagious.

He kept his eyes off the road longer than he probably should have, considering they were following someone a half a mile up the road, but it felt almost like they were father and son again and that was too good to give up right away. Sam broke the eye contact first, looking out over the road, that smile still on his face as he answered John's question, "I guess when I realized there was something I could protect him _from_."

He looked back at John, his smile softening. "The only reason he does those things is to make you uncomfortable so that you won't notice how uncomfortable he is. He thinks he should be this impenetrable fortress or something."

"He always did. Ever since your mom died. I think I saw him cry maybe once."

"How often did he see you cry?" Sam had a point, John honestly couldn't think of a time when he'd cried in front of his boys.

Before he could say anything, the Jetta turned off the road.

*

*

*

Dean heard the footsteps and resisted the urge to yell. Sure enough, the queen bitch came around the corner. She hadn't bothered to change clothes and he wondered about that, but she didn't give him the chance to ask.

"Your brother's a very intelligent boy, Dean. They should be here any minute."

Fuck. "Don't you fucking touch them."

She knelt down next to his head. "What about Daddy?"

"_Either _of them." Because he'd had hours alone in this fucking cave to think about it and he was still mad, he still didn't really forgive the man, but damnit, he'd just gotten him back and he couldn't lose him again, not now.

"That's so sweet, too bad it isn't going to do any good." She pulled the bag she'd left over to her and rummaged around inside it, pulling out a length of cloth. "Open wide, Dean."

He clenched his teeth. "Without those spirits, you're just one messed-in-the-head chick. There's no way you can beat them."

She scowled and it was an ugly thing, reminded him of the psychopath from way back when. "Who said anything about doing this without the spirits."

Her fingers gripped his jaw and forced it open pulling the gag through his teeth and behind his head, tying it tightly enough to hurt. Black had seeped in over her eyes and she was smiling that creepy ass smile that said she wasn't the only one in there. Holding one of her fingers up to her mouth, she stood up and backed against the wall, next to the opening.

Not good, not fucking good at all. When they walked in, the only thing they were going to see was him tied to the floor and, oh, please let them know this was a trap, don't let them do anything stupid like run in unarmed.

Sam was the first to come into view. His gun was in his hands and his eyes were wary and for one brief moment Dean thought 'thank god, he knows it's a trap, he's not going to do anything stupid,' but then Sam's eyes fell on Dean and all wariness was replaced by concern as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and rushed forward.

Behind the gag, he tried to curse at Sam, because it was far too late to warn him, especially since he hadn't gotten two steps into the room when Lily kicked him from behind, sending him crashing into the floor. Not waiting to see if Sam was getting up, she grabbed John by his shirt and spun him around, pressing his back to the wall and holding him by his neck so that his toes barely scraped the floor.

Sam groaned, lifted a hand to his head as he tried to sit up, swaying slightly. Dean yelled as loudly as his gag would let him, which wasn't loud and it certainly wasn't coherent, but Sam must have heard it anyway, because he looked up, a little dazed, but focusing on Dean. There was blood on his face from a gash just over his eyebrow. It wasn't gushing, but it wasn't a trickle, either.

He shifted his gaze while Sam crawled forward, still swaying slightly and fumbled with the knife, sawing through the ropes holding Dean's hand down. John was still against the wall, struggling in Lily's grasp and staring into the bitch's eyes and Dean knew what he was seeing. He only hoped that John could keep her attention long enough without getting himself badly injured, or worse.

As soon as his hand was free, he took the knife from Sam and hacked the other wrist free. He lunged at Sam and grabbed the gun from the back of his brother's pants, aiming it point blank and shot. The bullet blew a neat whole into the side of her head. Dean stared at her, panting because he couldn't breathe for the fear that was clenching in his chest.

She looked at him and there was nothing human in that gaze. Lily was gone, only the spirits animated that body. For a moment, he was afraid he'd made a big fucking mistake, because psycho chick had to be easier to handle than a corpse full of pissed-off spirits, but she just stared at him for few moments, then the black in the eyes drained, a shapeless, shadowy form falling from the body like water on oil and slipping across the floor to the symbol before seeping into the earth. Lily's body fell with a heavy thud, her pale blue eyes staring out at nothing.

Dean wanted to lay back on the ground and breathe a sigh of relief, but he couldn't, because that thing hadn't been exorcized, it had let go and that meant that it had done whatever it was that it wanted to do. Even if he hadn't known that, the look of shock and disgust written on his dad's face would have told him.

He cut the ropes around his feet, not caring that he nicked his ankle or that he sliced through his favorite jeans - he was going to burn them anyway. "Dad."

He crawled over and there was so much disbelief in the man's expression that Dean nearly did something unthinkable. He nearly cried. Couldn't cry, though, that wouldn't make anything better, not when he could already see the tears welling up in John's eyes. One blubbering mess was enough, thank you.

"Dad, don't, okay? Just..." But what was he supposed to say, don't cry, don't feel guilty? This was what Dean had wanted for the past week, for his father to understand, to feel really and truly sorry for what he'd done and now Dean wanted to take it back, because it wasn't worth it if it cost him Dad's life.

"Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't all right, he didn't forgive him, but he didn't want him gone.

"I should never have come back."

"No." Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice. God, he hadn't felt this broken since Ellen found out about his whoring.

"It would have been better if I had died, but, Dean, it wasn't for nothing, okay? What you did, you did for Sammy and he's safe, right?_" _If you could call perpetually getting knocked around by demons and spirits safe, then yeah. "I'm not ashamed of you."

And wasn't that what he'd been afraid of? He hadn't known it until he'd heard John say it, but there is was, out in the open and it was true. He'd thought there was no way in hell his dad was ever going to be proud of him again after what he'd done, what he was doing with Sam. He'd thought he'd never see that look on his dad's face that said he'd done good, because no matter how many spirits he wasted, no matter what kind of evil he vanquished back to hell, there wasn't anything he could do that would take _that_ away.

"Dean, look at me." John gripped his shoulders tightly, making Dean look him. "I'm proud of you. You kept yourself and your brother alive and maybe you tripped up along the way, but it's my fault for leaving. You were always so strong and I just forgot you were only fifteen and I was supposed to be your father. So, don't you dare think that I don't love you and don't ever blame yourself again. Do you understand me?"

He did, it wasn't that easy to accept, but he did understand.

"Dean, tell me you understand." Dean nodded, because he couldn't get his throat to work. "Good, now where's Sam?"

Oh, fuck, Sam! He turned around and went to his brother, who was trying to wave him off. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you're bleeding." He moved Sam's hand away from his forehead to look at the cut.

"I bleed all the time." Sam tried for a reassuring smile, at least Dean thought that was what it was supposed to be, but it came out as more of a pained flinch.

Dean helped Sam stand, but they were both a little wobbly, if for different reasons. "Sam, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam frowned at Dean's hand, gripping his brother's arm tighter. "I know it's two."

"Okay, how many are you seeing?"

"Four, but they're kind of overlapping, so technically it's three."

Dean laughed, trust Sam to get technical when he had a possible concussion. "Come on, we've got to get you to a doctor. Dad?"

John stood up, his legs shaking slightly, "I'm okay. Whatever that thing did... well, I'm not going to off myself if that's what you're concerned about. Let's get Sam to a hospital, then... then we've got to talk."

Yeah, they did and Dean was surprised to find that it wasn't such a scary thought anymore.

*

*

*

"Hi, Ellen, just calling in to check up."

There was the sound of a glass being put down. "You never call on time. What happened? Is Sam okay?"

"Sam's fine, he's got a mild concussion, but the doctor said he just needs to rest for a day or two."

"You already got a room?"

Dean sat back on the hood of the Impala, looking at the door to the hotel room where John was currently taking care of Sam so that Dean could make his call. Dean had been reluctant to leave them alone and not only because he didn't entirely trust John with Sam's safety, but because he still wasn't sure John wasn't going to off himself the first chance he got.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. We got a room for the night, but we'll be heading home soon."

Ellen paused, caught slightly off guard by Dean referring to the Roadhouse as home. "John coming with you?"

"Hm, yeah, I don't want to let him out of my sight for a while."

"What happened?"

He had a brief moment where he wanted to tell her everything, it would be easier now, when it was over the phone, than when he had to face her. Except, Dean really wasn't sure how to put it into words just yet. "I'll explain things when we get there."

"Just promise I won't be seeing your face on the news this time?"

Dean chuckled and nodded at the ground, even though she couldn't see him. "No, I was totally discreet. Now, Sammy on the other hand..."

"Dean Winchester, that'd better be a joke about to come out of your mouth."

He didn't even have to answer that. It was one thing for Dean to have an FBI profile and a warrant, that just made him cooler, but if it were Sam... well, Dean wouldn't be laughing about it. "You know it is. We'll probably be there by Wednesday, maybe sooner if Sam's feeling better tomorrow."

"I'll have your room ready."

Hanging up the phone, he shoved it in his pocket and stared at the ground. He was considering whether or not he was ready to go into the room, when the door opened and John came out. He looked worse for the wear, but then, Dean wasn't doing any better and he knew it. Self-consciously, he wrapped his hand around the rope burns on his wrist and rubbed at the sting.

John held something out and Dean looked up to see a can of Coke in front of him. After a minute, he took it and popped it open, drinking deeply. His stomach growled at the first offering of food in over twenty-four hours. When he'd drained half the can, he stopped to breathe, nodding at John. "Thanks."

"I thought maybe you could use it. You looked like you were going to keel over the entire time we were at the hospital."

"Really?" He hadn't thought it was that obvious.

"It was all I could do to keep the doctor's away from you. Figured you wouldn't want them prying."

Dean cleared his throat at the uncomfortable reminder that John now probably knew that part of him better than anyone, maybe even Sam. "Yeah, thanks for that, too."

John sat on the car next to Dean, who scooted over, not sure if he was making more room, or just distancing himself a little so they weren't touching. The silence stretched between them for several minutes. Awkward didn't even begin to cover this. It had been okay when Sam could guess at what he was feeling, even when he got it right nearly a hundred percent of the time, but John knowing, intimately, personally _knowing_ what Dean felt and especially when John was the one to blame...

Finally, John looked up and broke the silence. "When you left the other day, Sam said something. He said that this thing between you and him was his idea. He said that if I was going to be concerned about anyone it should be you. To be honest, I didn't really agree with that at the time, but... well, all things considered, I suppose I am. So, are you okay with it?"

Dean didn't answer right away, not because he was unsure about Sam, far from it, but because he didn't know how to put it into words. He'd never had to. Their relationship had always been based on an unspoken understanding. Sam wanted it, Dean needed it and that was all there was to it. He'd never bothered to analyze the hows and whys.

John sighed, putting his elbows on his knees. "I remember when you two were younger and anytime Sam would ask you for anything, you just couldn't say no. Didn't matter what it was. When you first told me, I didn't think about that. I only saw that flirty fifteen-year-old you were and I saw shy little Sammy and I thought... god, I don't even know what I was thinking, but after what that girl showed me, after knowing how you feel..."

"It's not like that." Dean interrupted him, unable to listen to John stammering on any longer, but at the same time unable to make eye contact. How was he supposed to explain that on some level, he'd always known about Sam's feelings? How it had been so obvious when Dean fooled around with Jo and she couldn't leave her room in the morning without pissing off Sam, or how when he broke up with her and it was the girls in the bar flirting with him, he'd caught Sam glaring daggers at them from across the room?

Sam had always wanted so badly to be normal, though, that Dean refused to acknowledge all those signs. He preferred to just think of it as Sam being over protective. Then when Sam had blurted all those things out, it had been like someone just opened the door for him and there it was, everything he'd always known was there, but hadn't been able to admit to himself. And, wouldn't you know it, the idea wasn't frightening, or disgusting, it was like... it was like coming home, because Sam _was_ his home. Hell, he'd had sex with men for money and with women he didn't know just to keep up his reputation, so why not give it a try with Sam?

From the first kiss it had been different and they'd taken it painfully slow. Sam would start things and then he'd sit back and let Dean take them as far as he was comfortable. Come to think of it, the kid had the patience of a saint. There had been almost two months before Dean was comfortable with the 'getting naked' part. Of course, Dean would have insisted it was for Sam's benefit, but they both knew better and Sam never called him on it.

There wasn't any easy way to put that into words, so Dean just said, "We're both okay," and he was surprised when John nodded and didn't press the point further.

"Did you call Ellen?"

"Yeah, told her we'd be leaving in a few days."

John sighed, "Dean, I know I can't be your father anymore, I'll be lucky if you consider me a friend, but I'd like to try."

The bottom dropped out of Dean's stomach and not because he was upset, but because he was... hopeful, maybe? "I think I'd like that."

"Good." John looked at him sideways and there was a smirk on his lips that reminded Dean of the one he used so often. "We'll have to lay down some rules, though."

"You know I hate rules."

"Too bad. Rule number one, we don't stop at motels that can't put us at least two rooms apart." Dean felt the corners of his mouth trying to tug upward. "Rule number two, no more grabbing your brother's leg under the table when you think I'm not looking."

"Aw, Dad, I always knew you were looking."

"Smart ass."

_-finis-_


	6. Part Six: About Time

Pairing: Sam/DeanRating: R  
Word Count: 2,885  
Warning: angst; family moments; wincest; salsh; explicit oral sex scene  
Summary: Ellen isn't stupid and she isn't blind, either.  
Author's Note: I'm working on a Part Seven, but I wanted to do a fun little interlude at the Roadhouse first.

* * *

**Part Six: About Time**

"Dean." Sam stared into his and Dean's room at the Roadhouse in abject horror. "Dean, tell me I'm having a vision."

Dean looked at him sharply, "How the hell is that going to make it better?"

"Because if it's a vision, maybe we can prevent it or something."

"I hate to point this out, Dorothy, but your visions generally involve a certain yellow-eyed demon and while this may be terrifying beyond all reason, it's hardly demonic."

"Shit."

The last job they'd done had put everyone in bad shape. To be honest, they were lucky to be alive and John had said he wanted to check in on some contacts of his and that Sam and Dean should go take it easy for a week or two - specifically, that they should go to the Roadhouse and keep a low profile.

Dean had protested with, "Come on, we're not babies, Dad. You're just as hurt as we are." Sam saw through that routine, though, and did his part with, "I want to see Aunt Ellen," and other sentimentalities until Dean had rolled his eyes and caved, calling Sam girly names until they were on the road.

In truth, Sam knew that Dean wanted this just as much as he did and it had nothing to do with nearly getting killed. Being on the road for two months with John had worn all of them down. Sam could only watch as Dean puffed up and flirted with the girls, trying to be the son he knew his father wanted, while simultaneously sleeping with his younger brother, all the while working on that whole 'forgiving Dad for abandoning them' thing. It was a balancing act that Dean was only going to be able to keep up for so long if he didn't get a break soon.

At least in the last few weeks, things had settled down some. After their encounter with the voodoo priestess, Dean and John had managed to have several conversations that weren't laced with heavy sarcasm and Sam had started to feel less like a mediator - a roll he was not suited for when it came to his dad. Dean had even managed to tone down his sexual innuendo where Sam was involved. Not that he'd stopped altogether, because... well, Dean was still Dean, no matter what face he was putting on. So, with that in mind, the boys had gotten into the Impala and driven back to Nebraska, leaving John to his contacts.

Of course, Ellen had been glad to see them, she always was. Especially seeing as a group of twenty some odd bikers had decided that the Roadhouse looked like a good place to get drunk that night and she could use all the help she could get, which Sam happily volunteered them to provide as soon as they'd changed out of their dirty clothes.

Taking their duffel bags from the car, they'd gone around back, waving to Ash, who was bringing what looked like the eighth bag of trash out of the bar, and made their way to the house, expecting to dump their stuff on their beds, and maybe do a little kissing and groping before working the rest of the night. Except that their plans had been thwarted the minute they looked in their room to find their beds missing, replaced by one, much larger bed, complete with new comforter and _three_ pillows.

Sam inched forward and slowly placed his duffel down on the bed. "Okay, this... this might not mean anything. Maybe we're just... I don't know, reading too much into it."

Dean opened the dresser on his side of the bed and flinched. "Because Ellen suddenly rearranging our room to look like a honeymoon suite doesn't mean a damned thing." He held up his hand and Sam's face turned bright red. Condoms?! She'd put condoms in their room?

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't get anything out. Finally, after Dean had put them away and he didn't have to look at them anymore, he managed to find words. "That doesn't mean anything. You're always flirting with everything female that walks in the door."

"Oh, yeah, Einstein? How many of them have I ever brought home?"

None. Not a single one. The few times Dean had had sex before Sam, it had been on hunts, with complete strangers that he was never going to see again and he'd always done it in store rooms - once at a girl's apartment. He'd never brought any of them to his room, not even the back seat of the Impala, which was as close to home as Dean had been willing to admit to back then.

"Okay, so maybe they're for me." Dean didn't even bother to answer that, just laughed and threw his own duffel on the bed, opening it. "What?!"

"You, pick up a girl that I didn't throw you at?" He was referring to Sarah. Sam still felt guilty for leading her on. "Come on, Ellen knows better than that, Sammy. If I'm hard to pull when it comes to the ladies, you're practically celibate."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam threw his dirty shirt at Dean, who dodged and threw his own. Sam raised an appreciative eyebrow at his brother's naked torso and pulled his second shirt off slowly. He waited until Dean's gaze had shifted lower, following the faint trail of dark hair to the low slung waist of his jeans, before throwing his undershirt, catching Dean full in the face.

"Now who's the bitch?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but froze, his eyes wide. From behind him, Sam heard. "Oh, don't stop on my account, boys."

Sam whirled around to face Jo, who was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. "How long have you been standing there?" He was already frantically reaching into his bag, pulling out the first shirt he could find and shoving it on.

"Long enough and let me tell you, little Sammy, I never would have guessed you were hiding _that_ under all those clothes. Seriously, do you _let _him win?"

"Hey!"

She waggled her eyebrows at Dean. "Don't worry, lover boy, you're no slouch, either. Just that Sam's got like a whole head on you and... just _damn_. Explain to me, Sam, why you cover that up?"

Dean scowled, but he knew what Jo was doing. It wasn't easy to get Sam to blush; well, it wasn't easy for anyone _else_ to get him to blush and right now, Sam was bright, tomato red. "What are you doing in here, anyway? I thought you where holding down the fort?"

Jo moved her arms away from her body, showing her sopping wet shirt. "One of the bikers thought I'd look good in beer, so I stepped out to change. Hurry up, though, because I am so passing them onto you. Consider it pay-back."

As much as Dean wanted to complain, he couldn't. Jo had done more than her fair share of stepping in for Dean. Sam chuckled as she went across the hall to her room. Reaching over, Sam shut the door, his face still an obvious shade of pink as he pealed off his baggy jeans and pulled out the cargo pants he wore on laundry days.

"Dean, do you think Ellen knows?"

"How?"

"I don't know, but... what about the condoms?"

"You never got her 'safe sex' talk, but honestly, as much fun as it was teasing you about them, they're probably just precautionary. In case one of us decides to get frisky with a patron." Dean didn't bother changing pants, just stretched a new shirt on and winked at Sam.

"I don't know..."

"Look, we've never actually done anything while we were here, so how could she possible know? Just play it cool, baby brother."

"Don't call me that!" Sam yelled after him, but Dean was already out the front door and Sam sighed. He grabbed his second shirt, putting it and one of his almost clean hoodies on, then followed. Dean was probably right. They'd always been careful, never doing much more than a few, inconspicuous touches, nothing that couldn't be explained away, even when they were alone in their room with the door shut.

He gave the room one last look. The beat up bedside tables that had always sat squished together between the two singles were now separated by the ominous, sinister looking queen bed. The twin dressers that had always been two or three feet apart were pushed together as well. It was disconcerting. The thought that this might have something to do with them - as in Ellen knowing that they had sex together - was more than a little intimidating, but at the same time, he kind of liked it.

With a sigh, he closed the door behind him. At least this way, they wouldn't have to try and sneak the beds together at night, or remember to pull them apart in the morning.

*

*

*

Turned out the bikers weren't all men. In fact, five or six women peppered the dirty group of rough riders and every single time Dean turned his back, one of them would inevitably smack his ass. Sam should have been annoyed, he usually was when women flirted with his brother, but he couldn't be, mostly that was because Dean _was_, and seeing the tight, frustrated look on Dean's face just before he reigned it in was somehow enough to temper Sam's mile-wide jealous streak.

Jo was currently playing a game of poker against some unlucky rookie Hunters who were about to lose over a hundred dollars a piece. Ash was in the back pretending he could cook and annoying the hell out of the kid Ellen paid to make the stuff that passed as food. Sam was tending bar with Ellen, because more people ordered drinks than food around here. He couldn't do the complicated stuff, but this wasn't the kind of place that served mixed drinks.

After they closed up at two, Dean would insist on training with Sam out back before bed, because he'd want to test Sam's reflexes when he was exhausted. Sam would know it was because Dean wanted to work off the frustration of having to put with being groped by brawny women in leather, who were, as Dean would put it, _so_ not his type. Then they'd go to bed and lay awake for a few minutes, listening to each other breathe, but not saying a word, because sometimes there didn't need to be words between them.

Except this time they'd be in the same bed.

"Sam?"

He looked up and saw Dean standing across from him, looking expectant. Oh, right, drinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Two Bud Lights for the Twisted Sisters."

Sam shook his head as he filled the iced mugs. "You okay over there? We can switch if you want."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ellen would kick my ass if I let you wait tables."

"It's not like it's dangerous or anything."

"No, but you'd get into a soul searching conversation with every customer who said 'hello.'"

Ellen pushed another glass at Sam and gave Dean the 'get back to work' look that she'd used when Dean and Jo were dating and she'd caught them flirting on shift. Dean was half way across the room before he realized exactly what that implied. He shook his head as he delivered the drinks.

It was impossible. There was no way she knew, unless... he refrained from cursing as he set the beers down and made sure there was nothing else they needed for the moment. His watch said thirty minutes till it was time to kick everyone out. Catching Ellen's eye, he made a gesture, indicating that he was going to take and leak. As soon as he was through the door and out of her sight, he bypassed the restroom in favor of the going out back.

John picked up on the second ring of Dean's third call, his voice thick with sleep. "Dean?"

"Hey, you up?"

John groaned and mumbled something unintelligible before saying, "Yeah, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's peachy. Look, did you tell Ellen about me and Sam?"

"Did I what?"

"Did. You. Tell. Ellen. About me and Sam?"

He heard John stifle a yawn. "No, I didn't. Why?"

"She bought us a new bed."

"And...?"

"Bed. As in singular. As in she expects us to sleep in the same one."

There was a long pause and Dean was thinking that maybe John was going to confess and so help him, if John had told Ellen, they were going to be back to square fucking one with each other. But John didn't say that, instead he said, very calmly, "Look, Dean, I didn't say anything, I swear, but I don't think it's any big secret that you two are always pushing those beds together. Maybe she just thought she'd save you the effort."

"Maybe..." Maybe... maybe he really was just reading too much into it. It would be nice if that were all there was to it.

"How are you doing?"

Dean felt heady at the concern in John's voice and he slid down the wall so that he was crouched on the balls on his feet. "A little bruised, ankle hurts like a bitch, but otherwise okay."

"And Sam?"

"He's fine. His throat may still be sore, but that's what he gets for allowing himself to get choked all the damned time."

John chuckled, "I have noticed that."

Dean put a hand through his hair, gripping it. Talking with John was never easy. He knew John was sorry for what he'd done, even understood it, they'd covered that months ago, but that didn't make it okay. Except the more time they spent together, the closer it got to being okay and, quite frankly, Dean wasn't really sure how to deal with 'okay'. "Guess he'll have to lay off the blow jobs for a while, huh? Sucks to be me."

Two months ago, that would have started a fight. Now, John saw it for what it was - a self-defense mechanism to keep from having to deal the issues at hand. So, his only response was, "I'm sure you two can find something else to occupy yourselves."

Dean almost smiled, but just managed not to and pushed himself up. "I've gotta get back to work."

"I thought you two were supposed to be resting."

"You know better than that, John. No rest for the wicked, right?" John didn't respond to that. He hated it when Dean called him by his first name and Dean knew it. "Take care of yourself. Call me if those contacts dig up anything."

"Take it easy, Dean."

Hanging up, Dean stuffed his phone in his pocket and hurried back inside. Twenty minutes till closing time.

Surprisingly, the bikers put up little resistance at being shoed out. Joshua, an old contact of John's and one of the many that had helped train Dean, stayed longer, pulling Dean aside to talk to him after the bar was empty of customers. Ellen had given Dean an appraising look before telling Joshua he had ten minutes and then he had to clear out. He could come back in the morning if he wanted.

Sam watched them while he wiped the bar down. He didn't need to hear to know what was being said. 'Are you okay? I was sorry to hear about Caleb. Is John really back? Where was he? You sure you're okay?' Dean must have had that particular conversation dozens of times. Even Gordon had called to check in on Dean, and Gordon never called anyone.

By the time Joshua left, Dean was discreetly chewing the inside of his mouth and Sam knew that was never a good sign. He looked at Ellen, intending to ask if he and Dean could cut out a little early, but before he'd even opened his mouth, Ellen nodded. He smiled and leaned over, kissing her cheek. "Thanks, Aunt Ellen, I'll make you pancakes for breakfast."

"Sam Winchester, I know you boys well enough to know you won't be up before noon."

He shrugged, still smiling and went over to Dean, who hadn't stopped staring at the table. "Hey, it's been a long day. Want to go out back and try to kick my ass?"

Dean looked at him, an unexpected sparkle in his eye. "I'll do more than try, little brother. I'll wipe the floor with you."

They went out back and Sam shucking his hoody and top shirt, straightening his baggy jeans on his hips. Dean smirked, giving just that little hint before attacking. Sam was a decent fighter. Dean was better. So, when it came to their little sparing matches, Sam ended up spending most of the time blocking.

Arch his back to avoid the foot aimed at his stomach. Hand up to deflect the fist going for his shoulder. Dean's hand opened at the last minute and locked on Sam's wrist, using it to twist his younger brother around. Good hold, but Sam brought his leg behind Dean's and pulled it forward, tripping his brother and controlling the falling so he came out on top and the force of it made Dean let go.

They rolled around on the ground for a minute until Dean managed to gain the upper hand and pin him, one hand on his collar bone, just below his throat, the other holding one of Sam's wrists to the ground. They laid like that for a moment and Sam was keenly aware that he could have gotten out of the hold. Dean was stronger, but Sam was far more flexible. He could twist his hips, throw his leg around and knock Dean on his back so fast, his brother would barely have time to blink.

He didn't. Instead, he used his free hand to grip the sweaty front of Dean's shirt and pull him down into a heated kiss. The risk of it made him instantly hard. They were in the dirt behind the Roadhouse, anyone could walk outside and see them at any minute. Of course, the door squeaked so loud they'd have plenty of warning, but that didn't make it any less exciting.

Dean pulled away after only a minute and Sam smiled up at him, daring him to say anything. That was when the door opened. Or rather, it was kicked open and Jo came out, holding a jingling bag of bottles. She stopped to give them a long look before rolling her eyes.

"What is it with you boys and wrestling? You're all over black and blue, you've looked like you're about to collapse from exhaustion all night, and yet you still somehow find the energy to toss each other around the backyard."

Sam could feel the blush creeping up into his cheeks as he grabbed his shirt off the ground. However, Dean didn't miss a beat. He winked at her and gave one of his sloppy smiles. "Aw, Jojo, don't be jealous. Come here, I'll toss you around some."

She dropped the bag as he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, lifting her off the ground. "Dean!" She drove her elbow back into his ribs, but Dean only grunted. "Sam, a little help over here?"

Sam lifted his hands and stepped back. "Sorry, you got yourself into this."

"Figures. Dean, if you don't let me go, I'll take the cheap shot."

Dean lowered her so her feet touched the ground. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Jo was perfectly capable in a fight, she'd been raised same as Dean and Sam, after all. Part of what made her an affective fighter, though, was the fact that she knew her weaknesses. She knew she was petite and she knew that she couldn't out-muscle men twice her size in a fair fight. Fair, being the operative word, because given her weaknesses, Jo never, ever fought fair.

With a belabored sigh, Dean let her go and she elbowed him again, just for good measure. Picking up the bag, she tossed it on the pile and wiped her hands on her dirty jeans. "Night, boys. Sweet dreams."

As soon as she was back inside, Dean stretched, pulling his arms tight over his head and looked back at Sam. "You coming to bed, or have I got to drag you?"

*

*

*

The thing with beds was that Sam had very few good experiences with them. He'd spent a good portion of his life in low rent rooms on lumpy, hard mattresses and even his old bed at Ellen's, while superior to the backseat of the Impala, had been overly firm and wafer thin. Until Jess, Sam hadn't even known beds were supposed to be comfortable.

This mattress, the one he had stared at with so much contempt the night before, was soft and mostly new and really, _really_ comfortable. He'd sunk into it, wrapped himself around Dean and fallen instantly asleep, not waking up until the sinful feeling of lips around his cock dragged him out of unconsciousness. Not that he was complaining. Good mattress, long night's sleep, morning blow job - nothing to complain about there.

Except that he'd been so thoroughly asleep that the shock of waking up to that particular sensation had made him gasp and then moan, momentarily forgetting where he was. Dean pinched his hip, but didn't stop his slow up and down glide over Sam's cock. Ellen's, they were at Ellen's, he had to... Dean dropped his head, taking Sam into the back of his throat and Sam gripped the comforter under him, trying and failing to stifle his moan as he came.

They lay there panting for a few minutes, Dean's head resting on Sam's thigh. Finally, Sam managed to get his brain to work and he looked down at Dean. "Want me to return the favor?"

Dean shook his head and held up a spunk covered hand. "No need, little brother, but since you're feeling generous, you can wash the sheets."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." And Sam couldn't argue with that.

They got up and put on moderately clean clothes. Dean stripped the sheets and tossed them at Sam, along with the duffel bags, so he could get started on the laundry. Meanwhile, he went into the living room and found Jo and Ash lounging on the couch, watching daytime programming. On closer inspection, Jo was watching, Ash had fallen asleep again, which wasn't surprising, considering the program of choice was some talk show.

Dean sat on the couch, wedging himself between the two, purposefully almost sitting on Jo, who pushed him over. Ash startled awake as he was crushed under Dean's weight. "Man, what the hell?"

"Sorry."

Ash mumbled something, but he was already falling back asleep.

Shifting back over, Dean put his head on Jo's shoulder and looked at the television questioningly. "Dr. Phil? Seriously?"

"You got a problem with that, Oprah-boy?"

"Touche."

He sat back up and watched with her, making snide remarks about the woman who let her teenage daughter beat her up. Jo elbowed his ribs for being insensitive and Dean tickled her sides until it hurt in retaliation. Ellen came in from the kitchen right about the time the daughter started to get mouthy with the host of the show.

"Sam's cooking a late breakfast if anyone's hungry."

Jo was up and moving before she'd even finished. Dean started to follow, but Ellen stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Is Sam having nightmares again?"

Where had that come from? "No, not for a while."

"Visions?"

"On and off, still unpredictable."

"Anything this morning?"

Dean's heart skipped a very important beat as what Ellen was getting at clicked. "No, no, nothing like that. He was... bad dream was all."

She gave him a concerned frown. "I thought you said he wasn't having nightmares."

"Well, it wasn't really a nightmare, not like that anyway. Just your average, run of the mill bad dream." She didn't look even remotely convinced. "He's fine, Ellen, really. I'm taking good care of him."

"I know you are. Dean, is there anything you aren't telling me?"

That was a loaded question and Dean decided to stick to the truth. "There's a lot I don't tell you."

He didn't wait for a response, just flashed her a smile and went into the kitchen in time to see Sam swatting Jo's hand away from the bowl of pancake batter. She waited until Sam turned his back to check on the temperature of the skillet and snuck a taste, only to have her hand smacked again for her effort.

It was like one of those fucking Hallmark card moments, all they needed was some kind of sappy blurb or poem to go with it. Dean didn't say anything, though, just rolled his eyes and watched Sam and Jo playfully bickering. As soon as the first three were done, he got up and stole them, before Jo or even Ash - who'd stumbled in at the smell of food - could make a move.

Ellen kept real maple syrup in the pantry, the kind bottled in Canada and named after the region it was farmed from, but Dean bypassed that for the Aunt Jemima stashed in the back of the fridge.

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust as Dean slathered it on, drowning the pancakes in thick, processed syrup. "How can you eat that stuff? It's like maybe ten percent actual syrup."

Dean just grinned, putting a large fork-full in his mouth. God, but that was good. He almost wished he could have met Jess at least once, just so he could have thanked her for teaching Sam how to cook.

Jo rolled her eyes. "You two are like an old married couple, I swear."

Sam gave her that wide eyed look he got when someone stumbled too close to the truth and Dean had to throw something at her to distract her before she saw it. He scarified a small triangle of gooey pancake to the cause and she gave an indignant squeal as it flew off his fork and nailed her in the ass.

"Dean, those were clean!"

He waggled his eyebrows. "Want me to lick it off."

"You're such a pervert." But she winked at him and he chuckled back into his plate, trying to ignore the way Sam's face had gone dark.

Ellen came in, carrying a basket of dirty laundry to add to the stack beside the back door and Sam took the pancakes off the skillet and handed them to her before Jo could lay claim. She took them gratefully and sat down with Dean, who was nearly finished with his and wondering what the odds were that he could get seconds. Sam shook his head at him and Dean slumped dejectedly.

Sam couldn't help smiling as his eyes lingered on Dean's pouting mouth. He lingered a little too long, however, because Jo managed to get her finger in the bowl again before he noticed. He swatted at her again, but she dodged this time, happily licking batter of. "Sammy, you are the best."

"I'm only the best if you actually get any, batter thief."

She flashed him one of those overly cheery smile that split her face just a little too wide, but was somehow attractive all the same. To punish her, he gave Ash the next round and to punish him for doing that, she stood over his shoulder while he put the next three on. Well, more like peered around his side with her chest plastered to his back, because he was too tall for her to get anywhere near his shoulder, but it was about the same level of uncomfortable.

He was half tempted to try and keep the next three from her as well, but he couldn't cook one handed and holding them out of her reach was the only way he was going to keep her from getting them. Handing them over, he patted her on the head condescendingly and pulled away as she nipped at him. Still smiling, she went to the table and sat next to Dean, pouring on the same artificially sweet syrup that he had.

Sam rolled his eyes. At least Dean had an excuse. Before they'd moved in with Ellen, they'd lived off the crap. Jo had always had access to the real stuff and for some reason, she still preferred the processed generic.

By the time his own were finished and he'd sat down at the table, Ellen had decided that she'd probably better go back to the Roadhouse in case anyone came in. Hazard of running a bar that was open from 9 to 2 - there just wasn't much spare time for anything other than sleep. Dean excused himself as well, saying that he was going to start the laundry. He gave Sam one of those long looks that said the sheets would be going in first. Probably a good thing, since if they left them there, Ellen might get to them first and neither of them wanted to explain the cum stains.

After a minute of silence, Sam caught motion out of the corner of his eye and looked up in time to see Jo mouthing something at Ash. Seeing that Sam had noticed her, she set her features back to a sweet smile. Ash picked up his plate, "I'll just go watching TV, then."

It was just the two of them now and from the devious glint in Jo's eye, he didn't think he liked that idea. Maybe he should go join Ash.

"So, have a good morning?"

Sam considered his answer, because there was something behind that question, something in how she stirred a square of pancake slowly in the syrup as she asked it. It was... deliberate, he just wasn't sure to what end. Eventually, he settled on, "Yes," because it seemed harmless enough.

"I thought as much." She put the syrup soaked piece in her mouth and Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to read her. "So, how's the _hunting_."

She didn't mean hunting, he could tell in the way she said it, but Sam still wasn't sure what she did mean, so he stuck with, "Fine," and drew the word out just like she had.

"Hm." It got quiet again and Sam was just starting to think the weirdness was over, when Jo said, "Catch anything _interesting_ lately?" And that was just it, because she said 'interesting' the same way Dean said it when he was talking about... oh. Oh!

"You know!"

The devious half smile turned into a full out grin and her shoulders shook with laughter. "Of course, I know. You don't honestly think you're that good, do you? All those steamy looks across the bar, the wrestling matches that are just one step shy of pornographic. I mean, really, Sam, how many times do you think you can inconspicuously grab Dean's ass in an attempt to get a 'good grip on him' before someone notices?"

Sam's face had turned bright red and he ducked a little in his seat. "I... it wasn't that obvious."

Jo rolled her eyes. "You know, I'm not the only one who's figured it out."

His mind blanked and he looked around the kitchen, because... well, he really wasn't sure why he was doing it, except he felt kind of exposed sitting at the table talking about his supposedly secret sex life with his pretty much sister and that was awkward enough without the thought of someone overhearing them. "Who else?"

" Mom, for one."

"Aunt Ellen knows?!"

Jo put a hand over his mouth, "Sh! God, not so loud. Dean'll hear you."

"Why don't you want Dean to hear?"

"Because Mom's trying to get him to tell her on his own."

Suddenly, it made all sense. The bed, the condoms, the way Ellen kept looking at them, the comment Jo had made earlier. Technically, this wasn't lying, but sometimes Ellen considered sneaking around behind her back just as bad. Not that he blamed her, really, but the shades were grayer when it was his own ass he was covering. "What if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"But what if he doesn't." Because Sam knew Dean well enough to know that he would go through hell and high water to keep Ellen from thinking less of him and Dean was supposed to be protecting Sam, which was not the category 'fucking' fell under. At least, not the way Dean saw it. Sam could have made a convincing argument otherwise.

"Trust me." Which, of course, Sam didn't, but he did trust Ellen and this was her game.

"Is she... well, mad at us?"

"For having sex? No, not really. I think she was wigged out a little, at first, but she got over it. Besides, it's not like she can stop you."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you okay with it?" Sam looked at his food rather than at her. It had been years since she and Dean had been together, but that didn't mean she still didn't have feelings for him. Maybe. It was possible.

He looked up at her, because she hadn't said anything and the grin had turned devious again. "Tell you what, I'll forgive you if you let me watch."

"That's disgusting, Jo, you're like a sister."

"Which apparently isn't an issue." Sam considered flinging his entire plate at her. "I'm kidding, Dorkface. Of course it doesn't bother me. Now eat up before it gets cold."

*

*

*

There was something wrong with Sam. Not that Sam had said anything, but then that was half the reason Dean knew. He'd come back in from starting the laundry to find Jo and Sam laughing about something, only the moment they saw him, they both shut down like guilty teenagers. Then when Dean had sat down, Sam had given Dean his half full plate and told him to finish it.

Sam always finished his food, unless he was really, really bothered by something. Sam not finishing his food was the equivalent of Dean drinking McDonald's coffee which meant they needed to talk, alone; except that Jo was following Sam around like a baby duckling, or like she had with Dean when they were going out, which was an even scarier analogy. She practically draped herself over him and every so often he caught her winking at Sam, making Dean more certain than ever that he _needed_ to know what was wrong with Sam. Not that he thought the two of them were doing anything more then sharing a secret, but that was more than enough to well and truly piss him off.

It was a slow night in the bar, thank god, because Dean was sore and achy and worried and he really wasn't in the mood to run around all night, listening to people bitch about how long it was taking him to get their drinks. By ten o'clock, he was fuming. He'd caught Sam and Jo exchanging looks all night and, sure, he knew that things were solid between him and Sam, but the idea that she might know something about Sam that he didn't...

"Dean, I need to talk to you." He looked up from where he'd been sending death glares at Jo across the room to see Ellen standing next to him, wiping her hands off and giving him the stern look. Oh, great, just perfect, because what he really needed to make his night complete was a lecture on something he wasn't even aware he'd done wrong.

He didn't say anything, though, just followed her outside, grabbing his jacket on the way out, so he'd have something to put his hands in. They didn't go far, just outside the door and Ellen didn't bother to close it, which was actually a good sign - it meant she wasn't planning on yelling at him loud enough for everyone else to hear. Of course, planning and actually doing were often two very different things, especially where Ellen and Dean were concerned.

For a minute, she just stared at him, like she was sizing him up, then she said, "Dean, is there something you want to tell me?"

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and tried to figure out what she was talking about. Obviously there was something she was trying to get him to say, because this was how Ellen started those kinds of conversations, but usually he already had some idea what it was about and this time... this time he was just stumped. "Um, no?"

"Okay, how about we start with why you looked like you were about to jump the bar and throw down with Jo in there?"

"I'm not mad at Jo, Ellen."

"You could have fooled me. And just about everyone else."

Shit. "Okay, maybe a little, but it's not anything she did."

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and waited and Dean shoved his hands so far into his pockets, the seams were stretching. He wasn't backing down, she didn't need to know anything about him and Sam, that was their business.

"Does this have something to do with her and Sam?"

Irrational as it was, Dean's throat went instantly dry. "What about her and Sam?"

Ellen shrugged, a little too nonchalantly, but that could be explained by the fact that she knew talking to Dean about anything that involved Sam was like walking through a minefield. "I'm not sure, but they've been looking at each kind of intense all day. Do you know anything about that?"

Dean relaxed visibly and pulled his nails out of his palms. "Nothing's going on between them, Ellen. You've got my word."

"How do you know?"

He faltered at the accusation in her tone. "I just do?"

"That sounded suspiciously like a question. How do you know?" Dean shifted feet and his mouth worked, but nothing would come out. Not that he was really sure what he would have said if he'd been able.

Ellen watched and she waited, but Dean just got stiffer and stiffer and he couldn't meet her eyes anymore and she could tell he was two seconds from bolting. As much as she enjoyed his discomfort, because he deserved it for the all the hell he put her through on an almost daily basis, she decided it was time to put him out of his misery.

"Dean Winchester, I swear, getting the truth out of you is like pulling teeth." He finally made eye contact with her and that was probably the best deer-in-the-headlights impression he'd done in years. "I know about you and Sam."

"Wha..." Now he looked more like a goldfish than a deer. Ellen almost wished she'd agreed to let Jo take pictures.

"I know about you and Sam, have since you came home after that vampire incident."

Dean looked to the side and then back at her, guilt written all over his face. "How?"

She laughed a little and stuck with, "I just did," because Dean wouldn't have appreciated the truth.

The truth was that they'd stayed a week away from home before coming back and when they finally had, she'd noticed the way Dean and Sam stood just that much closer, the way the sat with their legs spread wide enough so their knees were touching, the way they glanced at each other every so often, as if reassuring themselves that the other was still there. Honestly, it had reminded her a little too much of the way she had acted with Bill after he came home from a Hunt. Dean liked to think he was unreadable. He liked to think that he could hide everything, but to someone who knew him, like Sam and Ellen and Jo and even Ash, it was pretty obvious what was going through that head of his most of the time. You just had to know what to look for.

"Is this... I mean, are you okay with this?"

"Okay might be putting it a little strong." She watched his face fall before letting her own settle into a reprimanding smile. "But, yes, as long as I have your word that there will be no. More. Secrets. Not between us."

Dean nodded, because, really, he could live with that. He hated keeping secrets from her anyway. "You know, Sammy's the one that started it."

"Oh, I figured." At his raised eyebrow, she reached up, ruffling his hair. "Did you never notice the way he looked at you? Besides, that boy's got more sense than to fall for the kind of pick up lines you throw out."

And as much as Dean wanted to protest, he knew she was right. Ellen put her arm through Dean's. "Jo and Sam can manage on their own for a while, I could use a drink and then I want to hear everything you boys have been up to with John; starting with why you called me last week and said not to watch the Cincinnati evening news."

_-Finis-_


End file.
